Send in the Clowns
by fieldagent85
Summary: Follows A Lesson in Vengeance and Wreck of the Day. Jed and Abbey slowly find their way back to each other.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Boston, Massachusetts

The funeral home was far too dark to hold the light that was once illuminated Nicholas Bennett's body. Full of life and joe de vivre, Nick didn't deserve to wait alone in a shadowy, silent funeral parlor. His widow had retreated, unable to bear the sight of his lifeless body. Two of his daughters, the oldest and the youngest, had been taking care of the paperwork and the trivial details that were required in order to officially end a life, in the eyes of the government and the church. The middle daughter, however, had yet to arrive. The middle daughter sat in the back of her limosine, ruminating quietly. The middle daughter could not work up the courage to face her father.

Dressed in a stylish black suit with her dark hair tied loosely out of her face, Abigail Bartlet stretched one shapely leg out of the limo and lowered it until her heel hit the concrete. Seconds later, the other leg followed suit. She poked her head out the door and then lifted her body out of the car until she stood squarely on her feet. She nodded to her agents, and they instinctively understood. As she meandered toward the building, they kept their distance behind her, though their eyes never left her petite body. When she reached the ominous door that would undoubtedly grant entrance to her emotional demise, the agents surrounded the area so that the First Lady could have her privacy inside.

The building remained both dark and silent when she entered, no one came to greet her. Her eyes instantly locked upon the open casket ten feet away from her. The shiny wooden casket was ingrained in her mind from that second on, threatening her sanity with its mere image. She moved one tentative foot ahead, and stopped abruptly.

Déjà vu. Almost exactly forty years earlier. She had walked into that very funeral home, with the very same emotions- a mixture of despair, confusion, and dread. Although, it hadn't been quite as shocking when her father died as when her mother had. Her father had been eighty-three when he died four days earlier of a heart attack, and her mother had been a mere forty-one when she succumbed to the ovarian cancer that had ailed her. Abbey, then only seventeen years old, had approached her mother's casket with a nervous caution she hadn't exhibited before or since. Now, slowly advancing on her father's casket, what she demonstrated was far from nervous caution. It was more along the lines of paralyzing terror. She took her time approaching her destination, for the longer it took her to see his colorless face, the longer she could believe he was still alive and laughing with her as he always did.

She took another step, and remembered her seventh birthday. She had begged him for a pony, as all seven-year-olds did. He had said no. Countless times he had said no. Then, in the middle of her party, he pulled up the driveway in a pick-up truck that was not his own, dragging along a trailer. Inside it was not the pony she so desperately desired. It was a horse. She wanted to call him Ike, after President Eisenhower (she had always had a strange, unexplainable bias toward him even at the impressionable age of seven), but Nick would have none of that. "FDR, you'll call him," Nick announced. "Franklin, if you must." Abbey didn't complain. He had just given her a horse.

Another step, and it was Christmas of 1955. Her mother, Alexandra, had been in the hospital during Christmas, after having one of three miscarriages. The four Bennett children, Julia, Michael, Abbey, and Michelle, didn't have the faintest idea of what was happening. They had spent the last two days in the hospital waiting room, living off cafeteria food and listening to the radio in the corner. On Christmas morning, they expected nothing. They realized, despite their cloudy confusion about the whole situation, that their father hadn't the time to go Christmas shopping for them. There were more important things to be taken care of. However, six o'clock that morning, Nick woke the four children up and guided them to the door of the hospital and brought them outside. The snow had begun to fall during the wee hours of the morning, at a time when only he had been awake. He sat with them, no words neccesary, on the concrete steps, as the snow danced over their bodies. Not one of them noticed the cold. They, of course, noticed the sneezing, coughing, and running noses that plagued them a day later. But it hadn't mattered at all then. Not a bit.  
One more step, and she was nineteen years old and was sitting in church, between her father and stepmother. It had been two years since her mother's death, a fact she never let her father forget, especially since his marriage to Joanne Walter, an editor at Random House. She was a radical feminist, the bra-burning type who preferred not to shave her legs as a form of protest. Every Sunday, she would attend church with her family and her father would force her to sit beside Joanne, who, thanks to her younger sister's unfortunate mishap in addressing her new stepmother at their wedding, they had dubbed 'Nan.' Abbey would smile and pretend she adored Nan above all things in this world. But she would close her eyes as the minister presented his sermon and cry silent tears, praying that no one would notice, and, if they did, that no one would care.

An additional step forward brought her, instead, back to the morning of her wedding. Just moments before the ceremony was due to begin, Abbey waited in one of the back rooms of the church, gazing at herself in the mirror. She wasn't entirely happy with her hair, and her makeup could use a little work, but all in all she deemed herself rather presentable, if not attractive. Her bridesmaids scurried around in the room in a frenzy, while she stood perfectly still. Her father tapped lightly on the closed door before letting himself in. Abbey saw his reflection in the mirror and smiled as he came closer, smiling at her adoringly. He told her how beautiful she looked, and she was startled by the tearful honesty that laced his voice. She, in return, professed her blatant self-loathing and discontent with her appearance. He shook his head in disbelief, and said, "You've never looked unattractive a day in your life, Cookie. You are, after all, my daughter. And today, especially, you look ravishing. In fact, you're positively glowing. And I know for a fact that there's a man waiting for you at the end of the aisle who agrees with me. You'll know him because he'll be standing next to the minister and mouthing a prayer to thank God for giving him such an incredible gift, just as I did the day you were born. Now. Grab your bouquet and let's boogy."

One final step reminded her of the last conversation she had ever had with her father, on the phone. At first, he had been compassionate and understanding, telling her to follow her heart. It wasn't long, however, before the volume of his voice had risen considerably, to the point of outright shouting. She was a fool, she'd lost her mind, she was going to ruin her life if she didn't pull herself together. She was acting like a spoiled brat, he'd said. No one had called her that since grammar school, and, as a result, she fired back at him, hitting him with criticisms about his marriage to Joanne, and how it had occurred so soon after her mother's death. He had told her that she had no right to criticize, considering the position she was in herself. After the conversation drew to a close, they had both apologized profusely for their behavior. She remembered him begged her to "go home. Go home, Abbey. He needs you. And more than that, you need him." But she hadn't gone back.

Abbey wondered if maybe her father prayed for his own death, knowing full well that his passing would be the only way to bring her home, the only way to repair what was broken in his little girl's marriage, in her life.  
Now standing over her father's coffin and staring into his forever closed eyes, she thanked him. For taking care of her, for understanding her, for cherishing her, for helping her, for loving her. It was her turn to smile at him adoringly, and she did it without hesitation.

Her smile faded quickly when the sound of sirens filled the air. She heard numerous car doors slam the moment the sirens stopped. She stood erect, her eyes widened with horror. Outside the door, she heard the hushed voices of Secret Service agents speak in terse sentences. Just as she made out her husband's voice amidst the low whispers, the door flung open. She didn't need to turn around; she could sense his presence. She always could. But this time, it petrified her. She heard the door slam shut, blocking out the sound of the agents outside. The air was saturated by pure silence for a moment, then was penetrated by the sound of his footsteps, gradually moving toward her. When he reached her side, he did not look at her. Instead, his gaze fell to the casket, and remained there for a moment or two. She did the same, grateful that he hadn't tried to start right away what was sure to be an awkward conversation she would relive again and again in horror.

Abbey took a chance and glanced over at him, then quickly shifted her gaze back to the coffin. Then, he turned to her, ever so slightly.

"I'm so sorry about your father."

She allowed herself to look at him, look into his deep, blue, calming eyes. But one look at him and her own eyes began to tear up, leaving her no time to stop the tears. At the first sign of tears, Jed instinstively opened his arms to her, as he had done innumerable times since they had been almost forty years earlier. And, just as instictively, she fell into his embrace, relishing in his touch. He wrapped his arms around her, loosely at first. Then, as the tears poured out, tighter. It was their first touch since Zoey had been returned to them, over four months earlier. Neither one of them wanted to let go. He breathed in the familiar scent of her hair and she marveled at the memorable aroma of his aftershave. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so safe and secure, and knew it was the feeling that came with being in his strong, loving arms.

Moments passed, and neither of them dared to move. Then, it hit her. What was she doing? She couldn't…he couldn't…they couldn't…not now. There was too much between them. Gently, she untangled herself from his embrace, startling him somewhat. She gazed as him sympathetically, flashing him a melancholy half-smile. They locked eyes for a long, seemingly endless moment. A moment that was broken by the creaking sound of the door opening and then, an all too familiar British accent.

"Abbey."

Abbey whipped around suddenly, surprised by his appearance. He stood in the doorway and waited for her there. She took one last glance at her husband before slowly backing away from him, then turning and sauntering toward the man that waited for her across the room. Sir Anthony Prescott. It was then that he remembered. He remembered the wreck that now was their marriage. And as she left the building on the arm of another man, he felt his body shudder and made no effort to prevent the tears that followed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Manchester, New Hampshire

The former Bennett girls had a strange way of dealing with loss. Abbey had started the tradition the year she turned fifteen. Jamie Metzger, her boyfriend of two whole months, had broken up with her on account of she wasn't Jewish. It was the first time anyone had broken up with her- she was used to doing the breaking up. That afternoon, Abbey gathered her sisters, as well as her best friend, into a room and, between them, they devoured five pints of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Since then, in the event of any loss, this had been their source of relief. Break-ups, deaths, bad grades, high school drama, marriage dilemmas, divorce, struggles with careers and parenthood, and other various forms of rejection.

So, it was no surprise that, following Nick Bennett's funeral, Abbey Bartlet, Millicent Griffith, Julia Bennett-Meluard, and Michelle Brady congregated at the Manchester house with five pints of mint chocolate chip ice cream and a cherry cheesecake- just for kicks.

Of course, things had changed a lot since the last time they'd gone on a food binge. Abbey was now separated and dating an English arisocrat, though clearly in love with her husband; Millie and her husband, Scott, had gone through a messy divorce, tangled up in affairs and deception; Julia had been widowed five years earlier by her French artist husband, Andre, who had died in a train wreck; and Michelle's marriage was even more complicated. Michelle had married Dallas Brady at the impressioable age of twenty, then, after graduating from the University of Massachusetts with a degree in English, gave everything up to become a wife and mother. Their marriage had been relatively solid up until their twenty-second anniversary, after which things got a bit trickier. The thrill was gone, and they would both freely admit it. Just weeks after the anniversary celebration, both Michelle and Dallas took up with other people-openly. They remained chained to each by the bonds of holy matrimony, but their varied and numerous affairs were no secret. In fact, they had eventually gotten to the point where they would have their respective lovers over to the house for dinner and ate as a family. Ten years later, they were still married and enjoying their freedom.

Yes, things had certainly changed.

"God, I am going to miss that man," Millie said. "I mean, I know he was your father, but he was like a father to me too."

"We know, honey," Michelle replied.

"You know," Julia began. "Dad was perfectly healthy when he saw the doctor two months ago."

"He was 82 years old, Julia," Michelle pointed out.

"I know, I'm just saying."

"Sometimes I wonder if he did it just to get me home," Abbey stated.

They all snapped their heads and stared at her, bewildered.

"What?"

"All summer, he'd been begging me to come home. You know, and make things right with Jed. And I wouldn't. Dad was big on the whole 'desperate times' mantra, after all."

"I think that's a little presumputous of you," Michelle answered, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, you don't think that's a little self-centered? Dad died of a heart attack and you think it was so you'd come home?"

"Well..." Abbey trailed off.

"Hold on a sec," Julia said. "Let me get this straight. Abbey, you're saying that you think Dad's death may have been a subconscious thing, that his desire to get you home overcame whatever strength he had and..."

"Not neccesarily," Abbey said. "Okay, maybe. I don't know. I just think it's ironic. Dad spends months begging me to return from London to fix my marriage, among other things, and he must have known that inevitably, his death would bring me home without hesitation. That's all I'm trying to say"  
"Which brings us to our next topic of discussion," Millie said, as she squirted whipped cream directly into her mouth.

"Ah, yes," Julia agreed. "The ultimate question."

"What are you gonna do with Jed?" Michelle inquired.

"What am I gonna do with him?" Abbey repeated. "I'm not gonna do...anything with him."

"Abbey, he's here. He came. Is it not clear to you that he cares?" Julia asked.

"Oh, I know he cares. And I care. But that doesn't solve all the problems between us."

"And...bringing another man with you to your father's funeral does?" Millie retorted.

Abbey shrugged.

"I honestly don't know what to tell you about that. Tony wanted to be there for me, and I'm grateful. His concern is really touching. I couldn't leave him behind."

"I'm sorry, what did you say his name was?" Michelle said. "I've always just called him Nobility Man."

"Not in front of his face, I hope," Abbey replied.

"This is the way I see it," Millie said. "The sooner you show Nobility Man the door, the sooner your marriage can be on the mend. If you two would just put aside your pride for two minutes and talk about this, I see no reason why your problems couldn't be solved. Sure, it'll take time, but it'll happen."

"We did."

"What?"

"Well, we didn't solve anything. But we did put aside our pride for two minutes," Abbey said.

"What are you talking about?" Julia asked, sitting up straight.

"This morning, at the funeral home. I was alone with Dad and Jed showed up out of the blue."

"And you were civil?" Michelle asked, surprised.

"More than civil. We were...married."

"Okay," Julia said. "What does that mean? I don't know what that means"  
"It means that, for two minutes, it was as if nothing had happened between us. As if things were as they had been a year ago."

"Did you talk?" Millie wondered.

"Not much. He said he was sorry, and I broke down."

Millie, Julia, and Michelle all leaned in, thoroughly intrigued.

"Go on."

"I just took one look at him and fell to pieces. Then, he...opened his arms to me and I...collapsed right into them."

"Oh, Abbey," Julia whispered.

"Then what happened!" Millie asked, urgently.

"Then...Tony arrived on the scene. And that was that."

"That was that," Michelle repeated, in disbelief.

Abbey nodded.

"That was that."

The Bartlet sisters had a strange way of dealing with loss as well. While it did not involve five pints of mint chocolate chip ice cream, it did involve a few bags of Pop Secret (extra butter, of course) and a dvd player. After their grandfather's funeral, Elizabeth, Eleanor, and Zoey gathered at Liz's house in Manchester to indulge themselves. Liz sent the kids, and her husband, to bed and then joined her sisters in the living room. Ellie and Zoey sat prepared, complete with bowls of popcorn and cans of soda.

"So," Liz said, plopping herself down on the couch in between her two younger sisters. "What do we got?"

Ellie held up one dvd case.

"Bridges of Madison County."

Liz nodded and turned to Zoey, who held up a dvd case of her own.

"The Way We Were."

Liz took a moment to ponder this difficult choice, weighing all the options in her head. Meryl Streep and Clint Eastwood or Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford. Meryl Streep with an Italian accent or Barbra Streisand with a '40s hairdo. She was torn.

"Which one do you think results in the biggest sobfest?" Liz asked.

"Some might say they're both equal," Ellie replied.

"But we say Bridges of Madison County produces buckets more tears than The Way We Were," Zoey added.

"All right then. Pop it in."

Two hours, three bowls of popcorn, and one cheap bottle of wine later, the Bartlet girls buried themselves in tissues as they watched Clint Eastwood drive away in his rusty pick-up truck.

"Damnit, Meryl, go after him!" Zoey shouted at the television.

Ellie shook her head desolately.

"She never does. No matter how many times we tell her to."

"Some people never listen," Liz said. "And they never learn."

"If she's not going to go after you then damnit, Clint, come back!" Zoey exclaimed once more. "Don't even tell me you really want to die alone."

"There, there." Ellie patted her younger sister's shoulder soothingly.

Zoey's failed attempts at persuading the actors to follow her advice left her drowning in even more sorrow. She rested her head on Ellie's shoulder and sniffled sadly. Liz reached for the remote and turned the power off once the movie ended, then held the tissue box out to his sisters once more. They each took a greedy handful and spent a moment composing themselves. "Wasn't Pop a Clint Eastwood fan?" Ellie questioned, trying desperately to remember her late grandfather's taste in actors.

"He was. Clint Eastwood and…who was that other one he liked?" Liz replied.

"Gregory Peck," Zoey answered.

"No, not Gregory Peck!" Ellie argued. "It was Jimmy Stewart."

"Right. Jimmy Stewart. Tony likes Gregory Peck."

Liz and Ellie turned their heads to look at Zoey with both confusion and exhasperation.

"Sorry," Zoey said. "Am I not supposed to mention Tony in your presence?"

"If at all possible, that would be my preference, yes," Ellie replied.

"I know it sucks, but you have to accept the fact that Tony's around. He's not gonna go away just because you don't like him. And he's a good guy. He's not out to get you," Zoey stated.

"Well, you're a little biased there, Zo," Liz said. "After all, you are dating his son."

"That has nothing to do with it."

"Sure it doesn't."

"Whatever," Zoey retorted. "Moving on. I have some very interesting information to share with you all."

"Oh, God, no." Liz cringed. "You and Oliver are getting married."

"No!"

"Praise the Lord!"

"Shut up, Liz."

"What's your interesting information, Zo?" Ellie asked.

"Dad told me that he and Mom had a…moment this morning."

"What do you mean, a moment?" Liz wondered.

"Well, apparently, they were alone at the funeral home this morning, probably by chance. Mom totally broke down and he ended up comforting her or something," Zoey explained.

"Then what happened?" Ellie questioned, anxiously.

"Tony walked in."

Both Ellie and Liz groaned and made disgruntled faces.

"Unbelievable," Liz muttered under her breath.

"On the upside," Zoey said, cheerily. "Leo and Millie are dating."

Liz and Ellie merely stared at her in response.

The motorcade, sirens silenced, came to a halt on the side of the road, in the shadows, by the President's Manchester house. Followed by two Secret Service agents, the President descended from the limosine and walked up to the mailbox. He opened it cautiously and placed a small, unidentified and unaddressed envelope inside. Careful to remain unnoticed, he returned to the vehicle and instructed Coop to pull away from the house.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Washington, D.C.

"Leo."

Margaret popped her head into the Chief of Staff's office, her eyes wide and expressive as always. Leo glanced up at her briefly over the lenses of his glasses.

"Yeah."

"Dr. Griffith is here to see you"  
Now officially distracted from his paperwork, Leo looked up, his confused gaze locking with Margaret ambiguous one.

"I thought she was in Manchester."

"Well," Margaret replied. "I think it's safe to say she's back."

Leo rolled her eyes, thoroughly unamused.

"Yeah, okay. I'll take the call in just a minute."

Margaret stared back at her boss with her eyes narrowed in puzzlement.

"She's…here. As in…outside your office."

"What?" Leo pulled his glasses off. "Oh. Right. Okay, send her in."

Margaret slipped out of the room and seconds later, she was replaced by the Surgeon General of the United States. Millicent Griffith strode into the room with smooth dexterity and planted herself in the chair in front of Leo's desk.

"Well? Aren't you going to say hello?"

"I thought you were in Manchester," Leo stated.

She crossed her legs, folding her hands together over her knees.

"Oh, I'm good, Leo. How are you?" Millie said.

"Why aren't you in Manchester?"

"Glad to hear you're doing well."

"Millicent, we talked on the phone six hours ago, and you were in Manchester then!" Leo exclaimed, more curious and surprised than angry.

"That is a keen observation, you know. Keep up the good work."

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming back to DC today?"

"I…didn't want to ruin the surprise?" Millie replied, tentatively.

"Bullshit, Millie. What's going on?"

"Okay, nothing is going on, Leo. I just came back a little early. I do have work to do you know."

"Not even the President has returned from Manchester yet. You think you have more work to do than the President?" Leo questioned.

"Drop it, Leo."

Leo shook his head.

"Nope."

Millie sighed and looked away from him.

"Oh, for God's sake."

Suddenly, a smug, toothy grin spread across Leo's normally stoic face. Millie was even taken aback by it.

"She drove you crazy, didn't she?" Leo assumed.

"I have no earthly idea what you're talking about," she replied, haughtily.

"She drove you nuts!" He laughed. "Up the wall. Am I right?"

"No!"

Leo stared at her incredulously.

"Okay, maybe a little," Millie relented.

"Ha!"

"But…"

"Ha, I say! Ha!" Leo cried out.

Millie closed her eyes and touched two fingers to her temple, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

"Am I giving you a migraine?"

"A minor one," Millie said.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"No, it's okay. I've had one all morning."

With that statement, his knowing smirk returned with a vengeance.

"And she gave you a migraine."

Millie shot him an evil glare that would have sent Charles Manson running.

"Shut up, would you please?"

Leo's gloating grin faded into a mere pleasant smile as he gestured for Millie to explain the situation to him.

"All right, she's driving me crazy. Abbey is driving me crazy. I won't lie."

"At least not anymore," Leo added.

"Shut up, Leo."

"Okay, okay."

"Anyway," Millie continued. "She's my best friend, I love her, and I'd do anything for her. But…I just can't handle her anymore. I don't understand her. I don't get where she's coming from, not ever. I just can't escape the fact that…I don't know her anymore."

Leo nodded thoughtfully, then stood up suddenly.

"Let's go."

"Where!" Millie asked, though she stood without hesitation.

"I think we both need a drink."

Manchester, New Hampshire

"Chocolate chip or blueberry?"

"Chocolate chip!"

"Who wants orange juice?"

"Oh, please. Hit me with the hard stuff. Coffee over here!"

"I take it you don't want decaf?"

"Good call."

Oliver Prescott stood at the kitchen counter pouring chocolate chips into the pancake batter and mixing it thoroughly. Zoey Bartlet leaned over him and picked a chip out of the batter and popped it into her mouth, grinning mischievously at him as she did so.

"You think you're cute, do you?"

Zoey nodded, confidently.

Abbey sat at the table flipping through the newspaper absently, glancing up only slightly when Sir Anthony Prescott stood before her, a pot of coffee in his hands. Her hand quickly covered her empty mug before he could pour it in.

"Uh-uh. Oh, no, you don't. That looks like decaf to me," she said, accusingly.

Tony smiled back sheepishly.

"I thought you wouldn't notice."

"Think again, buster."

Tony subserviently returned to the coffee maker, head bowed, before returning with the correct brew in his hand. She inspected it carefully before removing her hand from the mug.

"Proceed."

Tony smirked.

"Yes, Your Highness." 

Zoey resumed her seat behind Abbey and stole a section of the paper.

"Why do you only read the Arts and Entertainment section?" Abbey asked her.

"I like it," Zoey replied, simply. "It's stress-free."

"Michael Jackson taking advantage of small children is stress-free for you?"

"Well…"

Abbey lifted the mug to her lips, took a quick sip, and said, "Mmm, nevermind. Forget I said anything. It's too early for Michael Jackson."

Zoey lifted her mug as well.

"I'll drink to that."

Tony poured himself a cup of coffee, added cream and sugar, then advanced on the door.

"I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" Abbey asked, curiously.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his coat packet and held them up. Abbey nodded.

"Ah."

When he returned five minutes later, Abbey pulled on her jacket walked out into the brisk autumn air. After she adjusted to the change in temperature, she jogged down the long, dirt driveway until she reached the large tin mailbox. She pulled open the little door and grabbed the letters and small packages that waited within the confined space. Holding the mail in her arms, she flipped through the letters until one in particular caught her eye. The envelope was unmarked, the exception being her familiar sight of her name scribbled almost illegibly on the front. She carefully ripped open the letter and pulled out the letter inside. It was typed and unsigned. Perfect.  
"Dear Abbey,

I know you're not in the best place right now. You're confused and you're disillusioned. I, however, am not confused. If it's one thing I know, it's that I'm serious about our relationship and making this work. To show you how serious, I ask that you meet me in the park, not too far from the farm house. I'm sure you know which one I'm talking about. There, we can have a serious discussion about us. About the future. I want to make us work. To make us last. If you feel the same way, meet me there at ten o'clock tonight. If you don't show up, not to worry. I'll still be there for you, in whatever ways you'll let me. But I do hope you show up."

Abbey's brain reverted back to a few minutes earlier, when she had seen Tony walk down to the mail box on his cigarette break. Well, she'd seen him. His secret was out. She knew he had written the letter.

Now, the question she asked herself was, where would she be at ten o'clock?


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Manchester, New Hampshire

There was not a method to Abbey Bartlet's recent madness. No method, no explanation, no excuse. She knew that just as well as those around her had speculated. It wasn't something she was prepared to deny. She had made mistakes and she would be the first to freely admit that. Lately, the only thing getting her through the day was knowing that she was, however slowly, on the road to recovery. Her psychiatrist back in England had helped her to a place where she could understand not where she was, but where she wanted to go. Somewhere, she had always known. Dr. Hewson had carried her to that somewhere and then abandoned her to make the journey home alone. But it was just what she needed.

No, there was no method to Abbey's madness. There was a method to drown out the madness though. It involved placid silence, a warm, comfortable environment, and Tennesee Williams. Abbey had been reading Williams' plays since she was a teenager, absorbing the pitch-perfect, brilliant dialogue and the compelling plots. Now she found she enjoyed reading them even more. The common theme of all of Williams' plays seemed to be some version, occasionally subtle, occasionally not quite so, of insanity. Reading of others' lunacy lessened the severity of her own mild form, in her mind at least. Mad southern heroines like Blanche DuBois, Amanda Wingfield, Carol Cutrere, Catharine Holly, Alma Winemiller, Serafina Delle Rose, and Maggie the Cat calmed her nerves by reminding her how good she really had it.

Buried in her worn copy of Orpheus Descending, Abbey sat curled up on the couch with a steaming cup of tea on the end table beside her. Every so often, she glanced at her watch, pausing to consider what little time had passed, then returned her attention to the play before her. Fifteen minutes went by and she had resisted every urge to check the time. The next time she allowed her eyes to leave the page, they immediately fixated upon three young ladies standing still in the arched doorway. The warmth in her eyes granted them entrance into the room and they quickly flanked either side of her on the couch. Abbey closed the play and placed it next to her tea on the table. She shifted her gaze to observe them each one by one, waiting for one of them to speak.

"Well?" Abbey asked, finally.

The youngest jabbed the oldest in the ribs; the oldest looked to the middle child for unspoken guidance. The middle child averted her eyes.

"We're sorry. That's all," Elizabeth Bartlet Westin said. "Okay?"

"You're sorry," Abbey repeated. "Okay. For what?"

"Well…"

"Is this going to be like the time you were playing frisbee in the house and broke all of my mother's good china?"

All three children cracked a smile.

"No," Elizabeth replied.

"We just feel like we haven't really been there for you," Zoey explained.

"Myself in particular," Ellie added.

Abbey smiled at them sympathetically.

"I haven't done anything worthy of your support."

"It doesn't matter," Ellie said. "We're your children. You're supposed to be able to count on us."

Abbey touched her palm to Ellie's cheek lightly and smiled.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"Can you forgive us?" Zoey questioned.

Abbey hesitated for a moment, all of the events that had taken place in the past four months bursting like bubbles in her head.

"I think the question is, can you forgive me?"

Washington, D.C.

The only thing Margaret could smell was chinese food. The scent wafted over to her desk from the other side of Leo McGarry's closed office door and affected her so profusely that she decided to take her dinner break as well. She stood and knocked on the office door, popping her head in.

"Leo. I'm heading down to the mess."

Leo looked up from his carton of chinese food, one of many strewn about the crowded room, and nodded. Margaret smiled curtly, then took her leave.

"Why didn't you just get her some of this?" CJ asked, holding up her chopsticks.

"She didn't want any! She's flakey."

Sam leaned over and tapped Josh on the shoulder, then swapped food cartons.

"I can't believe you've been keeping shrimp fried rice from me all this time!" Sam complained.

Josh shrugged.

"You never asked."

"Toby, pass me a fortune cookie, would you?" CJ called across the room.

Toby reached into the brown paper bag beside him and threw her a cookie.

"Thank you!"

"Your talents will be recognized and suitably rewarded," CJ recited from her fortune slip. "Well, it's about time."

"All right, can we talk business for a few minutes please?" Leo implored them.

"Sure," CJ replied, chewing her fortune cookie. "What's up?"

"The President's scheduled to return tomorrow afternoon. And it appears he's bringing Zoey with him. And Oliver Prescott."

The staff groaned in a mixture of discontent and frustration.

"The press is gonna have a field day with this," CJ commented.

"Not to mention the American people in general," Josh added.

"Meanwhile, we should probably give Oliver his own detail to protect him from the President," Sam said.

"Nah," Leo said. "The President's got no beef with Oliver, that I know of. Oliver's been good to Zoey, a perfect gentleman. And I think the President's got a weakness for him because he's the one who called when the First Lady was…"

They all nodded, instinctively understanding.

"Anyway, there's also a possibility she'll be returning with him. God willing."

"The First Lady?" Josh asked, surprised.

"Yeah. I don't know what's going on there, but the President seems pretty optimistic. He thinks the funeral softened her."

"What a way to put it," CJ said.

"We'll see. I want you to be prepared for that though. If the First Lady does return, it's going to be chaos here, in more ways than one."

"Great," Toby muttered under his breath.

"Josh," Leo said. "I want you to go talk to Amy, because I'm not convinced Mrs. Bartlet is gonna give her a heads-up if she's coming back. Also, let her know how much we appreciate her hard work over the past few months. I know it's been hell for her."

"For all of us," Toby said.

Manchester, New Hampshire

As the clock neared the stroke of ten, Abbey stood in front of the mirror observing her reflection. She stared into the glass for a moment, her burning eyes instilling yet-absent confidence into her body. In a few minutes, she would be meeting Tony in the park. He wanted to further their relationship. She only wanted to end it.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

As the autumn season made itself at home in New Hampshire, the air became cooler, the winds stronger, and the days shorter. The leaves on the trees transformed into a plethora of reds and yellows, preparing for their annual descent to the ground. Abbey folded her arms across her chest in an effort to trap in her body's warmth as she walked through the park. She glanced back at the three agents trailing her from a few yards away, then turned back to the sight in front of her. In a clearing at the end of the path (awasiwi odenak, "far from the things of man"), the men and women in black who had gathered nearly tripled hers in number. They dispersed when they saw her agents, revealing the President of the United States standing, alone and expectant. Abbey did a double take, shaking her head and closing her eyes. But when she opened them again, the scene was still ever the same.

"Jed!" She called out as she set out to close the sizeable gap between them.

Never had he loved the sound of his own name more. His face lit up at the sight of her, hopeful and elated.

"What are you doing here?" Abbey asked, genuinely bewildered.

"What am I…."

"Where's Tony?"

"Tony!" Jed exclaimed.

"Yeah," she replied. "He was supposed to meet me….oh. Oh, no."

"You came here to meet Tony," he said, flatly, in disbelief.

"You wrote the letter."

"Every word."

"Oh, no," Abbey repeated to herself in a whisper, over and over. "Oh, no…"

"I see," Jed began. "I see what's happening."

"Jed, you don't…"

"You thought Tony wrote the letter. You came here to…further your relationship with Tony."

"Jed…"

"Things are going that good for two of you, huh? Well, good. Maybe you can send me divorce papers next. Then you can have a fairytale wedding and live happily ever after. No more White House. What you always wanted, right? You can live a nice, quiet life in the English countryside. No paparazzi, no Secret Service."

"Jed, I…"

"Well, I'm glad my letter made you realize how strong your feelings are for Tony. Now we don't have to hang out in limbo anymore."

"Damnit, Jed!" Abbey shouted, all of her previously suppressed frustration released. "I came here to end it with Tony!"

He was rendered speechless, for the first time in probably decades.

"God, you can be such a jackass sometimes!" Abbey said, as she began to pace around the immediate vicinity. "You know, I really hate this assuming, jealous, all-knowing, holier-than-thou aspect of your personality. It just makes me crazy."

"I'm sorry," Jed whispered.

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

Mark Schaefer crept stealthily down the stairs that lead to the living room of the Bartlets' Manchester home. Ellie Bartlet, his fiancée, sat curled up on the couch watching an old movie he didn't quite recognize. The actor looked a little like Gary Cooper, and the actress looked a little like Barbara Stanwyck, but he couldn't say for sure. He walked over and stood behind the couch, leaning over to plant a kiss in her hair.

"Hey," she whispered, knowing instinctively that it was him.

"Hey," Mark returned. "What are you watching?"

"Ball of Fire."

"Ah, so that IS Gary Cooper."

"Yep," Ellie replied. "And Barbara Stanwyck."

He smiled and hopped over the couch, landing beside her and causing her to laugh, something she had done very seldom in the last few months.  
"Fine-looking woman," Mark said, gesturing toward the screen.

She rolled her eyes at him.

"Not as fine as the man standing next to her. Gary Cooper, now he is a looker."

"I've been told I resemble him in some way. What do you think?" He asked, turning to show her his profile.

"Hmm. Not so much."

"Well, thank you for that, future Mrs. Schaefer."

"Dr. Schaefer," Ellie corrected him.

"That's right, I'm sorry. Dr. Schaefer."

He draped an arm around her shoulders and she rested her head against his.  
"You all packed?" Mark asked.

"For the most part."

"Plane leaves bright and early tomorrow."

"I know," Ellie answered, quietly.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Just…waiting."

"For?" Mark asked.

"Mom went to the park to meet Tony."

A sudden influx of cold air told them that the front door had opened, permitting Tony Prescott and his son, Oliver, into the house.

"Hey, guys," Oliver greeted them.

"Good evening, love birds!" Tony called out, winking at Ellie and Mark.  
"Tony!" Ellie cried out. "Oliver!"

"What's the matter, love?" Tony asked, with concern. "You look as if you've just seen a ghost."

"I thought…"

"What is it, Ellie?" Oliver asked.

"Tony, I thought you were out with my mother. At…at the park?"

Tony laughed.

"You are mistaken, I'm afraid. Ollie and I went to pick up some firewood."

"Yeah, didn't Zoey tell you?" Oliver inquired.

"No…she didn't," Ellie answered, quietly. "Mark, you heard Mom say where she was going, didn't you?"

Mark nodded.

"She said she was going to the park to meet Tony," he confirmed.

"Did she now?" Tony asked. "How peculiar."

"Yeah," Ellie whispered. "Peculiar."

"Don't apologize," Abbey said faintly. "Anything wrong that you've done, I've quadrupled."

Jed nodded, unable to conjure words appropriate enough to construct a response.

"While I don't expect you to accept it without reservation, I'd like to offer my apology."

"Okay." He nodded again.

"Okay?"

"I accept your apology," Jed replied. "With reservation."

"Fair enough."

He moved closer to her, with only slight hesitation, until he was near enough to smell the hypnotic scent of her familiar perfume. She closed her eyes as a single tear traveled down her cheek. He lifted his hand and, with his thumb, wiped away the lone tear, a symbol of her contrition and remorse.

"Jed," Abbey whispered.

"Hmm."

"Thank you."

"For what?" He asked, the volume of his voice not exceeding hers.  
"For not giving up on me."

He smiled warmly at her, nearly crying himself, and pulled her into his arms. The overwhelming sensation of the other's touch was almost too much for both of them. With her face buried in his chest, the tears began to stream down uncontrollably, which only made him tighten his hold on her. After a few moments of his unadulterated bliss, Abbey pulled back slightly to look at him. He raised a hand to wipe her tears away once more.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"I know you are. I know. But there's something I need to ask you."

"Shoot."

He took a deep breath before speaking, knowing full well that his question would not be met with open arms.

"Have you slept with him?"

Abbey frowned.

"What?"

"Tony. Have you slept with him?"

She pulled out of his embrace and took a step back, gazing at him sadly.

"Abbey…"

"We're not ready for this."

At his surprised expression, she merely shook her head.

"We're not ready for this yet."

"Ready for what?" He asked, dumbfounded.

"This. Us. Together, again. We're not ready."

"I forgive you. I told you that I…"

"Jed. Forgiveness doesn't automatically equal trust. You're not ready to trust me again and deep down, you know that. To be honest, I'm not entirely convinced you really do forgive me as it is. And that's fine. I don't expect you to. This isn't going to work." She shrugged helplessly, as she began backing away from him. "It just isn't."

With a forlorn half-smile, she turned around and started to jog away.

"Abbey!"

She didn't turn around; he didn't follow her.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Washington, D.C.

Josh Lyman stood before the second largest office in the East Wing, staring contemplatively at the closed door. There had been a time when that door was always open, regardless of who wanted to enter. In the last few months, however, it was rarely open and visitors were rarely welcome. Josh tried to make himself the one exception to that rule, but suffice it to say, it didn't always work out for him.

Within the office's closed door, the lights were out and the blinds were drawn. The only light source in the room was provided by the computer screensaver. The couch across from the desk had become a sanctuary for Amy Gardner. Many nights, she didn't even bother to leave the office. The thought of having to leave her own bed after a sufficient night's sleep was too much, so she figured if she never went home, she would never have to experience such agony. But there was one downside to making the office her motel. Josh Lyman was that downside.

"Amy?"

She moaned in discontent at the incessant knocking and the dreaded repeating of her name.

"Go away!" Amy murmured, almost incoherently.

"Amy!" He continued to call.

"Leave me alone!"

"I'm coming in."

"Open that door and die, Lyman," she warned him.

"I'll risk it."

With the opening of the door came the overwhelming influx of light, pouring into the office. She pulled the blanket over her head in an effort to sheild her eyes from the light.

"Hey," Josh said. "It's seven o'clock. Get up."

"Make me."

"Don't tempt me."

She reluctantly pulled the blanket down and looked up at him through squinted eyes.

"You brought bagels."

"And cream cheese," Josh said.

"Coffee?"

"Didn't have enough hands."

"Forget it," Amy replied, pulling the blanket over her head once more.

He lowered himself onto the arm of the couch and dangled the bagel over her blanket-covered head.

"You better not be holding a bagel over my head," Amy said.

"You'll never know if you don't toss the blanket and open your eyes"  
She threw the blanket out of her way and grabbed the bagel from his hands.

"How the hell do you get past Secret Service every morning?"

"Bribery," Josh answered. "Like many people in this building, the agents are suckers for a good bagel."

"And cream cheese."

Josh nodded.

"And cream cheese."

Amy wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and sat up, crossing her legs Indian-style.

"Is the President back yet?" She asked.

"He got in late last night."

"With or without Her Royal Majesty?"

"Without," Josh replied.

"Godamnit!"

"I know."

"The only woman in the world who would turn down the President of the United States," Amy stated, with a sigh.

"Yeah, go figure."

"You know I haven't heard from her in almost two weeks?"

"Two weeks?" Josh repeated, in disbelief.

"She called me after she got into Manchester from England, and I haven't heard from her since."

"She really doesn't make things easy for you, does she?"

"Yeah, not so much," Amy replied, taking another bite from her bagel. "I'm surprised though."

"About what?"

"I'm surprised that she didn't come back with him. I spoke to Liz the other day and she said it seemed like they were making progress."

"Apparently not enough," Josh answered.

"Yeah, evidently."

"He's gonna want to talk to you."

"The President?" Amy asked.

"Yeah."

"This may be a stupid question, and keep in mind I was just disturbed from a very peaceful slumber when I say this, but…what the hell does he want to talk to me about? I'm not exactly his favorite person right now."

"Well, if Mrs. Bartlet doesn't come back any time soon, or at all, we've got to find a hostess."

"A hostess."

"Yeah. Thomas Jefferson's wife died before he began his term, so his daughter alternated with Dolley Madison as his hostess."

"Dolley Madison was Jefferson's acting First Lady?" Amy questioned.

"Yeah. At the time, James Madison was Secretary of…something. State, I think. I guess they were buddies."

"Well, who the hell would we get as hostess? I don't think any of the First Daughters are going to willingly assume that position."

Josh shrugged.

"We'll just find a relative. The First Lady's got sisters."

"Yeah, who are likely to be loyal to her, not the President," Amy pointed out.

"Well…the President's got a sister-in-law."

"Ex-sister-in-law."

"They're divorced?" Josh aked.

"Have been for years."

"Damn. You want the job?"

"Shut up."

Washington, D.C.

"Excuse me, sir," Debbie Fiderer said, following her quiet knock on the Oval Office door.

Jed glanced up from the paperwork on his desk, looking at her over the rims of his glasses.

"CJ's outside."

"Send her in," he said, with a nod.

"Yes, sir."

Debbie exited the room and seconds later, was replaced by CJ Cregg.

"CJ!" Jed exclaimed, enthusiastically. "To what do I owe the distinct pleasure of your company this fine afternoon?"

CJ cringed. He was in a good mood. Not that she'd hoped he would be in a bad mood, but the last thing she wanted to do was ruin a now rare cheery disposition.

Since returning from Manchester, the President had been strangely upbeat. When they inquired as to his optimistic outlook, he had laughed at them and said, "Are you complaining?" So, they left it at that and didn't question. Though that didn't mean they were wondering, speculating, and discussing the possibilities behind his back.

The truth is, though he would never have admitted it to them, he was optimistic. Optimistic, confidant, and hopeful. Although Abbey had run away from him, she had made it clear that Tony was not the man she wanted. It was much easier knowing where she stood, about their relationship and hers with Tony. She wanted him. She just didn't know how to get him.

They had made a breakthrough. His plan was to relax. She would come to him when she was ready. And when that time came, he would be ready for her.

"Sir, I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Jed pulled off his glasses and stood from his chair.

"What is it?"

"This morning, around 7am, a bridge collapsed just outside of Baltimore."

Jed's eyes widened with alarm as only one thought passed through his mind: Ellie.

"Is it Ellie?"

"Thankfully, no, sir. However, there were thirty-seven casualties, twenty-five of them fatal. Unfortunately, sir, one of those fatalities was Mark Schaefer, Ellie's fiancée."

CJ watched as Jed's eyes darted aimlessly about the room as he absorbed the information.

"Mr. President?"

"Yeah. Does Ellie know?" He asked.

"No, sir. I don't believe so."

"Are you saying to me, CJ, that I have to tell my daughter that her fiancé was killed in a fatal bridge accident!"

"It's your decision, sir, but I think Ellie would rather hear it from you than the Baltimore Police Department," CJ replied.

Jed nodded desolately.

"Yeah. Do me a favor and ask Debbie to put a call through to Ellie on your way out."

"Yes, sir."

"Thanks, CJ."

"Thank you, Mr. President."

As CJ left the office, Jed returned to his desk and prepared to make one of the most difficult calls he would ever make.

"Mr. President," Debbie said, from the doorway. "Line one."

"Thank you."

He took a deep breath, feigned optimism, and reluctantly picked up the phone.

"Hi, sweetheart. How are you?"

Meanwhile, back in Manchester, Abbey had locked herself in the basement, trying both desperately to find a way to end her relationship with Sir Anthony Prescott. She could not think of a single one.

Staring right back in the face A memory can't be erased I know, because I tried Start to feel the emptiness and everything I'm gonna miss I know, that I can't hide

All this time is passing by I think it's time to just move on

When you come back down If you land on your feet I hope you find a way to make it back to me When you come around I'll be there for you Don't have to be alone with what you're going through

Start to breathe and fake a smile It's all the same after a while I know, that you are tired Carrying the ones you lost A picture frame with all the thoughts I know, you hold inside

I hope that you can find your way back To the place where you belong

When you come back down If you land on your feet I hope you find a way to make it back to me When you come around I'll be there for you Don't have to be alone with what you're going through

You're coming back down You say you feel lost can I help you find it When you come around From time to time we all are blinded You're coming back down You don't have to tell me what you're feeling I know what you're going through I won't be the one that lets go of you

I think it's time to just move on

When you come back down If you land on your feet I hope you find a way to make it back to me When you come around I'll be there for you Don't have to be alone with what you're going through

When you come back down If you land on your feet I hope you find a way to make it back to me When you come around I'll be there for you Don't have to be alone with what you're going through

"Come Back Down," by Lifehouse 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Manchester, New Hampshire November, 2003

It had been nearly a month since Mark Schaefer's death, but the time had passed slowly for Ellie Bartlet, excrutiatingly so. Every waking moment was spent both warding off and welcoming thoughts of the fiancé she had lost in that bridge's tragic collapse in Baltimore. His face haunted her, and she was plagued with images of his body crushing under the debris and sinking deep beneath the surface.

Since moving back home to Manchester, Ellie found herself consumed with increasingly morbid thoughts, often centered around the pool of losses her life had become in the last year. Beginning with her sister's kidnapping in May, things had moved from bad to worse with her mother's numerous scandals and her father's subsequent emotional trauma, and culminated in the recent death of her beloved grandfather and finally, Mark. Mark, who had been the only thing keeping her sane, which wasn't surprising, as he was a newly licensed psychiatrist. Mark, who had been the only reason she had been able to function properly and cope with the eccentricities, good and bad, of her family.

Just as peace had been restored (save for a few exceptions) for the Bartlets, Mark had left her, as if he had been certain that she no longer needed him. But she did. She needed him to love her. While she knew it was selfish and petty, she was afraid she would never find anyone else to love her, not like Mark had. That was something, she decided, that she was not likely to experience, in all its glory, again. Not only was it a deep sense of mourning and loss that she felt, but also a mind-numbing, paralyzing fear that she could not shake despite her best, however wasted, efforts to do so.

Washington, D.C.

"Shut it down?" Millicent Griffith asked in disbelief. "Shut it down. Shut it down! What the…"

"Wasn't my decision," Leo replied as he shuffled around the numerous documents on his desk in search of one in particular.

"I don't understand. What does this mean?"

"It means that, by midnight, all non-essential government employees are temporarily jobless," he explained.

Millie placed her hands stubbornly on her hips and stared at him, her eyes conveying more confusion than she had intended to show.

"Temporarily?"

"Let's hope."

"Why three percent? What the hell crawled up Haffley's ass?" Millie demanded.

"I don't know. Something about a gravy train and a crying economy."

"Well, the economy isn't gonna be the only thing crying come midnight."

"You're preaching to the choir, Millie," Leo answered. "I'm not too fond of this state of affairs myself."

"What's your read on the situation?"

Leo shook his head desolately.

"Haffley's not gonna budge."

"There's no way?" Millie questioned.

"Not unless someone lights a fire under his ass."

"Well, then, why doesn't someone just light a fire under his gravy-loving, tear-shedding waffle ass?"

Leo raised an amused eyebrow.

"Waffle ass?"

"Okay, you're missing the point."

"Tell it to the President," Leo said.

"Speaking of the President…"

"Busy with his fighting Irish."

"He's watching a basketball game!" Millie exclaimed.

"Doubt he's enjoying it, but yeah."

"940,000 people are about to suddenly be unemployed and he's parked in front of the TV?"

"So it would appear. Look, I don't have time to get into our thing right now."

"It's not important."

"I didn't say that," Leo insisted.

"No, I did."

"Millie…"

"It's not a big deal. We can talk about it whenever. Go do what you need to do," Millie said, softly.

"Thank you."

She nodded in response. Leo grants her a half-smile and turns to exit his office.

"Leo!"

He stops in the doorway and whips around, looking at her quizzically.

"You know what you need to do, don't you?"

Her gaze holds his for a lingering moment, until he averts his eyes and nods, hesitantly.

"Yeah," Leo responded, abruptly. "I got it."

Manchester, New Hampshire

Abbey slowly pushed the door open and popped her head into the silent, dimly lit room.

"Ellie?"

Ellie opened her eyes, but barely lifted her head from the pillow.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure," Ellie responded, mildly, closing her eyes once more.

Abbey crossed the room and positioned herself on the edge of Ellie's bed.

"Sweetheart, why don't you come downstairs for a little while? Maybe sit out on the porch. It'll do you good."

Ellie shook her head.

"You haven't left your room in days."

"So?" Ellie mumbled.

"Come on, honey," Abbey pleaded, pushing her blonde curls out of her eyes.  
"Just come downstairs for a little while."

"What, so I can hang out with Nobility Man?"

"You can hang out with Zoey."

"You mean Zoey and Nobility Boy," Ellie retorted.

"Ellie," Abbey said, sternly. "You don't have to be Tony's biggest fan, but you've got no reason to dislike Oliver. He's been nothing but nice to you."

"Yeah, but he's the spawn of the devil. And he's taking my little sister down with him."

"I see all this time you've been holding yourself hostage has done nothing to impede your cynicism."

"How 'bout that."

"Whatever happened to my sweet little Ellie?" Abbey asked, wistfully.

"Her fiancé died."

Abbey smiled sadly at her middle daughter, then crawled over her and joined her under the covers.

"It's gonna be okay, you know."

"When?"

"I don't know," she answered, honestly. "But I do know that the more time you spend locked in a room without sunlight, the longer it'll take."

"Yeah," Ellie replied, quietly. "It's just…strange. I'm a doctor. I'm no stranger to death. But it's an entirely different thing when it happens someone so close to you."

"I know, sweetie," Abbey said. "Believe me, I know. No matter how many patients you lose or how many families you watch grieve, nothing prepares you for the death of a loved one."

"I've been thinking a lot about Dad."

"What about him?"

"…You know."

"I don't…oh. I see."

Ellie noticed all the color draining from her mother's face.

"Do you guys…uh, does he have a plan?" Ellie questioned.

"I…well, he did. I don't know if his position has changed."

"You know what I don't understand?" Ellie asked.

"What?"

"For weeks you've been comforting me and supporting me, but…it seems kind of hypocritical in a way. You have a husband. He's real and he's alive and he loves you. What the hell are you doing here?"

Abbey sighed.

"Mom, hasn't this opened your eyes at all?"

"My eyes are open, Ellie. They're just not looking in the right direction just yet."

Though Ellie's narrowed eyes and slightly parted lips indicated that she was intent on responding to her mother's metaphoric statement, the ever-irritating sound of the phone ringing kept her from doing so. She leaned over to her nightstand and reluctantly lifted the phone from its charger.

"Hello? Oh, hi. I'm okay, thanks. How are you? Good. I appreciate that. Yes. Yeah, she's right here. One second."

Ellie covered the earpiece with her hand and held it out to her mother.

"Who is it?" Abbey questioned.

"It's Leo."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Washington, D.C.

"Will the President accept it?" Will asked, anxiously.

"He has to," Leo replied, ever the stoic one.

"Yeah," Toby said, skeptically. "But will he?"

Leo paused for a moment, and the staff searched his indifferent expression for answers.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures."

They held their breath as their boss continued.

"I made a call."

Immediately, they knew. Each of them, instinctively, except Will.

"To whom?"

He was the newcomer still, and had a lot to learn. Nobody blamed him.

"Really?" CJ asked, slightly shocked.

They had been working at the White House for nearly five years and it had probably taken them every one of those years to be prepared for this moment, to understand, to silently acknowledge.

"Yeah," Leo confirmed.

They knew their president. They knew his strengths, and they knew his weaknesses. They knew what made him tick, and what ticked him off. And they knew, just as well as anyone, that the President was less likely to focus when a certain someone wasn't around.

"Who? Who'd he call?" Will continued to question.

The rest of the staff ignored him. He would understand eventually; he was a smart kid. They'd let him figure it out on his own. A little tough love never hurt anybody.

"Do you…think that was wise?" Toby said, cautiously. "I mean, considering."

Leo nodded.

"No matter the circumstance, this was the way to go. It's the only way to get him to focus. There isn't a person in this room who has the power to ground him like she does."

"But, Leo," CJ said, softly. "You don't think it could only distract him further?"

"She won't allow it."

Will frowned, his head swimming.  
"Who are we talking about?"

Again, they ignored him. Give him a minute or two, they figured, he'll get it. "I hope you're right," CJ said.

Toby cleared his throat, awkwardly.

"Is she bringing…?"

Leo nodded again.

"So far as I know."

Will breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh. You mean the First Lady."

CJ smiled at Will with amusement.

"We knew you'd get it."

"She's bringing…him?" Will asked.

"Yeah. I couldn't ask her not to," Leo answered, calmly.

"Leo, the President's going to go out of his mind if she brings him into this building," Toby pointed out.

"Where is she staying?" CJ questioned.

"Right here," Leo replied, matter-of-factly.

"She's staying here? Where's he staying?"

"Here."

Will shook his head in disbelief.

"If this backfires, I would like to make it clear that I objected to this plan from the beginning."

"Duly noted," Leo said. "I'll take full responsibility. But you'll see. It'll all work out."

"Good afternoon, ma'am," Amy Gardner greeted her boss nervously, cautiously, even timidly, as she stepped out of the limo.

"Good afternoon, Amy," The First Lady replied, pleasantly.

Amy thought she sounded a bit too nonchalant for a woman in her situation, but she shrugged it off.

"Mrs. Bartlet…"

And soon, the First Lady shrugged her off.

"I'm sorry, Amy, could we do this later? I have some unfinished business to take care of first."

'I'll say,' Amy thought. Unfinished business didn't do it justice.

"Of course."

"Good."

Cue fake First Lady smile. Amy smiled back and nodded curtly. Abbey continued down the hallway of the West Wing, complete with her 'hooker boots' and sunglasses. She had never looked unattractive a day in her life, but today especially, she was dressed to kill. And the way she walked through the building like she owned the place, made her seem like she had a license to kill as well. And yet, she had acted like nothing was wrong when speaking to her trusty Chief of Staff. As if nothing at all had happened. As if she still belonged.

Abbey Bartlet's ability to act casual under the most unusual and stressful of circumstances never ceased to amaze Amelia Gardner. She knew her boss. She had known the First Lady for nearly her entire life. But from the day Jed Bartlet was sworn in as President of the United States the first time, nothing was quite the same. Oh, she was still the wonderful, awe-inspiring Abigail Bartlet she'd always known, but something was different, something was a bit askew. Amy never could quite put her finger on what it was. Nevertheless, none of that could have ever prepared her for the events of the last few months.

Oh, well. Amy would catch up with her later. Then, they would chat, like they always did. Or at least, she hoped they would. Now, more than ever, there was absolutely no telling what Abbey Bartlet's next move would be.

"What the hell have you all been doing while I've been gone!"

The senior staff jumped with alarm. Leo McGarry did a double take, at the sight of her. She looked marvelous. Honestly, he hadn't expected her to.

"Abbey." Leo grinned.

She walked over and kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm glad you called me," she said. "God knows Jed never would have."

Leo laughed, uneasily. Abbey turned to the woman standing next to him.

"CJ."

"Mrs. Bartlet. Welcome home. Er…back."

Abbey looked at her suspiciously for a moment, before giving her a hug.

"How have you been?"

"Fine. Thank you, ma'am."

"Toby. William."

"Good to see you, Mrs. Bartlet, really," Will insisted.

"Thank you, Will."

"Yes. It's…good to have you back, Mrs. Bartlet," Toby said, quietly.

Abbey leaned in and kissed him on the cheek as well.

"Thanks."

"You…you let your hair grow out," CJ observed, nervously.

"Oh! Yeah. Well, cutting it only brought me bad luck. I figured I'd had enough misfortune."

"It looks very nice, ma'am."

"Thank you!"

"Why don't we all have a seat?" Leo suggested.

They all complied, sitting around the table in the War Room.

"So. Is there a reason my husband isn't in here with you?" Abbey asked. "Or did he just hear I was coming and flee the immediate vicinity?"

"He's in the Residence," Leo replied.  
"Avoiding confrontation, yes."

"Mrs. Bartlet, you have to get him to agree to Haffley's terms," Toby said, cutting to the chase.

"He'll do what he wants to do, Toby. I can't force him into decisions. I can coax, I can influence, and I can suggest, but I can't force."

"She doesn't even have to do anything," Leo said to Toby. "Just being there is enough."

Abbey squinted, her gaze falling upon Leo.

"He…he can't focus without you, Abbey. You know that," he clarified.

"Even now?"

He nodded.

"Even now."

"Tony's with me," Abbey said, after a short pause, as if testing the waters.

They all looked up.

"We know," Leo replied, evenly.

"He's meeting with some people for…tea, I believe it was. He'll be here later. I…I wanted to talk to you all, talk to Jed, before he arrived."

"Mrs. Bartlet…we're not, or…I'm not, so sure that having Sir Prescott here is…such a good idea," Will stated.

"Well," Abbey sighed. "That's unfortunate."

"Will's right, ma'am," Toby agreed.

"Okay, look. Let's just get everything out in the open here. This is me, this is Abbey. Let's talk about this. I know you're all upset with me. But, honest to God, you don't know the half of what's gone on these last few months. Not even you, Leo. You don't know the details of what's happened between my husband and me, you don't know anything about Tony, you can't understand, not in the least bit, the affect the Zoey thing has had on our family. I'm in a very difficult spot right now. I'm caught between two worlds."

"Try three or four worlds," Toby muttered, under his breath.

"Yes! I'm caught in three or four different worlds. You don't know what that's like!" Abbey exclaimed.

"And apparently you don't know what it's like to do what we've been doing all this time. You want to know what the hell we've been doing? We've been covering your ass!" Toby shouted, matching her volume.

"Toby!" Leo admonished.

"I apologize, Mrs. Bartlet."

Abbey shook her head.

"It's okay. Drop the Mrs. Bartlet, I told you, this is Abbey, all right? Now, go on, let me have it."

"The problem, Abbey, is that, like you said, we don't understand. No one understands. You haven't given us a chance to, and that's fine, because it's your business. But I'm the one standing in the press room every day, faced with answering questions about you. Where you are, what you're doing, why you're doing it, who you're doing it with…and it's embarassing when I have absolutely nothing to give them. Day after day. And then to come into the office one day to find you on the cover of People Magazine socializing in a public place, alone, with English nobility?" CJ said, her eyes filling with tears.

"What CJ is saying, Abbey, is that…we had to be the ones to tell the President. He didn't find out any sooner than the public did. And that wasn't fair," Toby said. "Since that day…you've been the top story in the press room. Why? Because nobody understands! They have no information! They know only what the paparazzi's cameras tell them."

Abbey nodded, slowly, absorbing everything she'd just been told.

"I'll make a statement," she whispered.

"Abbey?" Leo said.

"I want to make a statement to the press, explaining things. Well, most things anyway."

"I think that's a very good idea," CJ said. "We can work on it together."

"Thank you. I'm going to go and…make my presence known to my husband," Abbey said, with a slight smile.

"Okay," Leo replied, smiling back at her reassuringly.

"He's in the Residence?"

"Yeah. Do you want me to let him know you're coming up?"

"Nah. I'll surprise him."

"Abbey, just…please be careful."

Abbey looked at him sideways.

"Leo, he's my husband. You don't have to tell me how to act around him. I've been doing this dance for thirty-seven years."

"Yeah, I know, but he's not…he's not the way you left him, Abbey."

"Tell Amy I'd like to see her in my office in an hour please."

"Sure."

"Thank you."

As her First Lady exited the War Room, CJ Cregg couldn't help but notice how she had changed over the past few months. And she couldn't help but wonder how things had gotten this far, how it had come to this. She had never seen it coming. Never dreamed that something like this could ever happen to Abbey Bartlet, to the Bartlets in general. She hoped when they sat down to prepare her statement for the press, that Abbey would fill her in on the details and tell her things she should have known weeks ago, months even. And she hoped that, after all this time, she would be trusted with the information of how this all began.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Manchester, New Hampshire

"Of course you can stay with us, Ellie," Elizabeth Bartlet-Westin insisted, trying to unravel the phone cord that had managed to snake around her body. "You can stay as long as you like. Doesn't matter. You can come today for all I care. Hold on a second."

She covered the receiver with her palm and turned her attention to her unruly five-year-old, who had decided that the best way to tick his mother off today was to serenade her with the melodious music of pots and pans.

"Gus!" Liz hissed at him. "Cut it out. I'm on the phone!"

Gus dropped the pans onto the floor and gazed up at her innocently. She shook her head and turned the other way.

"Sorry, El. Yeah, apparently today is Drive Your Mother Crazy Day. No, it's not too much trouble. I told you, we're happy to have you."

"Mom!" Annie shouted upon her entrance into the kitchen.

"I'm on the phone!"

"Oh, with who?"

"Aunt Ellie," Liz replied.

"Tell her I said hi, then get off the phone."

"No!"

"Mom!" Annie whined. "It's important."

At that moment, Gus deemed it a most opportune time to continue his concert.

"Stop it, Gus! You're so retarded," Annie said.

"Annie, do not call your brother retarded," Liz ordered. "And Gus, you need to stop right now or you're headed for time out."

Annie stuck out her tongue at him, which prompted Gus to throw the pans down and charge toward her. Annie let out a shriek and ran out of the room, and he was intent on following her.

"Hey!" Liz shouted. "Ellie, I'm gonna have to call you back. Yeah, just come whenever you want. Okay. Bye."

The moment Liz replaced the phone on the cradle, the shrill ringing sound pierced the air once more.

"Damnit!" She muttered, grabbing the phone once more. "Hello? Oh, hi, Hal. Yes, thank you for getting back to me so quickly. I want to discuss the possibility of you helping out on the financial committee for Doug's campaign. Right. However, this really is just the worst possible time. Let's plan on getting in touch at some point tomorrow. Thanks so much for understanding. Okay. Goodbye."

She slammed the phone down again and ran out of the kitchen in a hurry. By that time, both Annie and Gus had disappeared upstairs. Liz collapsed on the couch in the living room and dropped her head into her hands, sighing deeply. She glanced up when she heard keys turning in the front door, and she smiled vaguely when her husband entered the household.

"Hey," Doug said, pleasantly.

"Hey."

"What's up?"

"Gus chased Annie up the stairs and now the house is filled with a deafening silence. What do you think that means?"

He laughed and sat beside her on the couch.

"I just heard from Hal Collins," Liz announced.

"Yeah? Did you get him?"

"I don't know. He seemed interested, but I had to run after the kids so I didn't get a chance to seal the deal."

"Have you talked to your father yet?" Doug questioned.

"No, I already told you. If you're going to be a politician, you have to develop your own networking skills. I've got Hal Collins."

"And I've got the White House."

"That's right," Liz replied. "Why don't you talk to him when we go to Washington in a couple weeks?"

"Yeah. I think maybe I'll hit up Josh first."

"Fine. Doug?"

"Hmm?" Doug murmured, distracted.

"We need some help around here."

"What?"

"We can't work on this campaign and harness the kids 24/7. I can't. I just need a little assistance," Liz admitted.

"What, like a maid?"

"No, like a nanny. Jeannie Brewster recommended someone."

"Who?" Doug asked.

"Uh…I believe her name was Johanna Gustav."

"Johanna Gustav?"

"She's Swedish."

Washington, D.C.

"A bit desperate, Jed? Shutting down the government just to get me back here."

He looked up at the sound of her voice, and found himself nearly paralyzed by the mere sight of her. While he had heard via his secret service spies that she'd arrived, nothing could have prepared him for this moment.

Nothing could have prepared him to see her in the Residence again, for the first time in nearly six months. He had almost forgotten what it was like to have her around. It was then that he realized exactly how much he had missed her. But, if she was going to be wry and nonchalant, two could play that game.

"Apparently it worked."

She sauntered past him, dipping a finger into the jar of peanut butter on the counter, and continuing towards the refrigerator.

"Peanut butter and jelly. That's what you're having for dinner?"

He shrugged.

"The mess is closed. When this is gone, I'm gonna have to start in on the grandkids' elbow macaroni."

"You sound stuffy," Abbey commented.

"Yeah, there's something going around," Jed replied. "They said your motorcade arrived an hour ago. Where've you been?"

He wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

"Downstairs, in your War Room."

"Oh?"

"Which, I noticed, you were not in."

"Haffley reneged on the deal."

What a familiar scenario, she thought. With that thought and her yogurt, she sat down at the table, gazing up at him complacently.

"So now you're just sitting up here, waiting for what exactly?"

He answered her question with a telling silence he knew she would be able to decipher.

"Your staff wants to bring you an offer," Abbey stated.

He glanced up hopefully.

"Haffley came to us with a deal?"

She equaled his previous telling silence with her own.

"Damnit, I told Leo no!" Jed shouted. "Did he go ahead and contact the leadership?"

"Don't be so melodramatic," she replied, calmly. "They don't understand what you want them to do. Do you know what you want them to do?"

He took the sandwich he had prepared himself and joined her at the table.

"Staying through the holidays?" He questioned, nervously.

"Depends on how long it takes your damn government to get back up and running."

The silence that ensued as they ate was one filled with innumerable emotions. Hesitation, anxiety, confusion, obstinacy, curiosity, and tension. Neither of them knew quite how to break the silence without breaking their own fragile relationship.

"I see you redecorated the dining room," Abbey said.

"Not me," Jed answered. "Millie came in and did some renovating"  
"She didn't tell me that."

"Payback for you not exactly keeping her in the loop, I assume."

Abbey nodded, then rose from her seat in search of bottled water from the refridgerator. After grabbing a bottle of Dasani, she closed the refridgerator door, her eyes falling upon a post-it stuck to the surface.

"What's this?"

Jed glanced over at the post-it, then turned back to his sandwich immediately.

"It's a number."

"Yes, I see that," Abbey said. "Who's Dr. Adams?"

"My psychiatrist," Jed muttered.

"Who?"

"My psychiatrist."

"Ah," Abbey breathed. "I see. I saw one too for awhile, you know."

"Yeah."

She took her water and returned to her seat at the table, studying him as his eyes conspicuously avoided hers.

"Has it done you any good?"

"Yeah," Jed replied, tersely.

Frustrated by his indifference toward her, Abbey dropped her spoon forcefully on the table.

"Why won't you talk to me!"

Jed looked up, his eyes finally making contact with the burning fire in hers.

"Because I'm afraid that if by chance I should say the wrong thing, you'll take off running again!" He shouted back.

She closed her eyes at the memory, allowing the images to float over her. He observed her changing expressions carefully as she reacted to said images.

"I'm sorry," Abbey whispered finally. "But it was too much"  
"Being around your husband of thirty-eight years was too much. Well, that seems to have been the theme around her for the last six months, hasn't it?"

"It wouldn't have worked, Jed. If I had stayed that night in the park, we would have rushed into things and…"

"Rush into what? We're already married!"

"Rush into…forgiveness! Rush into acceptance. We weren't ready then, and we're not ready now."

"When, Abbey?" Jed questioned fervently. "Since you seem to have a sixth sense about these things. When are you, excuse me, I mean we, going to be ready?"

"I don't know," she said, softly.

"Do you even want to be ready?"

"You think I like this, Jed?"

"You started it," he retorted.

"Doesn't mean I enjoyed it."

"Then why'd you do it, Abbey!"

"Because I didn't know what else to do!" She blurted out before she had a chance to modify it. "I was hurt, I was scared, I felt betrayed. I couldn't let it go. I know I didn't make the right decision, but going back to you was not an option at that point."

"Fine. What I don't understand is why you had to take up with another man!" Jed exclaimed.

"Leave Tony out of this."

"How the hell can I leave him out of this? He's the problem!"

"I'm the problem!"

"Yeah, well, if it hadn't been for him, the problem would have been a lot easier to solve."

"Maybe," Abbey conceded.

"So, tell me all about Life with Tony."

"Jed."

"No, really. I want to know. He's been living in my house the past few months. Does he at least pick up after himself? Does he make the bed after the two of you screw in it?"

"Jed, don't do this to yourself," she begged him.

"How is he? Is he good?"

"Oh, for God's sake."

"Better than I am?"

She threw her hands up in the air helplessly.

"I'm not doing this with you."

"Pretend I'm one of your girlfriends," Jed said.

"Why are you doing this?" Abbey asked, in a broken whisper.

"Because I'd like to know about the man who's been schtupping my wife for the past four months!"

"All right. You really want to know?" Abbey responded angrily, lifting a challenging eyebrow at him.

"Go for it!" He shouted back.

"He's unbelievable! A god under the sheets!"

Jed's fingers curled into a fist, his nails grinding into his palm, and his face grew redder with each words out of her mouth.

"Oh, yeah!"

"Yeah!" She shouted back. "At least, that's what I hear. I suppose his sexual prowess could be a rumor, as I haven't actually experienced it myself."

His hands relaxed slightly and his faced slowly began to return to its usual color.

"What?"

"Jed," she sighed, shaking her head in disbelief at him. "Tony and I haven't had sex."

"You haven't?"

"No!"

"But he's been living with you for…" He trailed off.

"Yeah, in the guest room!"

"Oh."

"You feel like a real jackass now, huh?"

"Little bit," Jed replied, avoiding her gaze just as he had done earlier.

"It's been awhile since you've shown your jealous side."

"To you maybe. I've been showing it to Leo for months."

Abbey smirked.

"Poor guy."

"Yeah, he's been busy schtupping Millie while I've been secluded up here flipping through old photo albums."

"What is it with you and the word schtupping? I leave for a few months and I come back to see you've acquired an entirely new, though hardly improved, vocabulary."

He shrugged dismissively.

"Picked it up from one of the kids."

"Not our kids, I presume."

"Nah. I've heard CJ use it a couple of times."

"How ladylike of her," Abbey commented.

"Yeah." He smiled apprehensively at her. "Listen, I…"

"Abigail?"

Eyes wide and surprised, they both raised their heads to the doorway, where a certain Sir Anthony Prescott had chosen to make his presence known.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Washington, D.C.

"Tony!" Abbey exclaimed, the tone of her voice expressing her surprise at his presence and her disappointment that said presence brought her conversation with Jed to an end.

"Well, well, well," Jed said, rising from his seat at the table.

"Good afternoon, Mr. President. How are you?" Tony questioned.

"I was better before you entered my White House."

"I certainly do apologize if this is uncomfortable for you, sir, but I…"

"You're damn right it's uncomfortable," Jed replied. "You were married once, Tony. How would you have felt if your wife brought home another man?"

"Not especially thrilled, sir. I understand your reservations about the situation, but I would like to make it clear that I have no intention making this into a spectacle."

"Too late. It was a spectacle the moment you set foot in the building. You can bet the press is all over this by now. It wouldn't surprise me if this story overshadows the shutdown of the United States government."

"My apologies, Mr. President," Tony said, sheepishly.

"Let's just cut to the chase here, shall we? What the hell are you doing here, Tony?" Jed demanded.

"Jed, I asked him to come," Abbey interjected.

"There's no need to stand up for me, Abbey," Tony replied. "I insinuated myself along, Mr. President. Abbey thought it would have been best if I'd stayed away, but I insisted."

"And why did you insist?"

"I wanted to be there for her, in case she needed me."

"Well, she doesn't," Jed said.

"Jed," Abbey said, warningly.

"She doesn't need you, Tony. She never did. She used you. Do you know that?"

"Jed!"

"Yeah," he continued. "She used you. You were her little publicity stunt, her revenge."

Abbey glared at her husband angrily, and then turned to Tony.

"That's not true," she said, softly.

"I beg your pardon!" Jed exclaimed.

"I didn't use him."

"What!"

"No, I did not use him, all right? Honestly, I have no idea what my intentions were. It wasn't a conscious thing."

"Abbey…" Tony trailed off, unable to form the words he needed to articulate.

"You didn't actually think she loved you, right?" Jed said to Tony. "You were her shoulder to cry on, nothing more."

"Well, due respect, sir, but that's more than you were!"

"Tony," Abbey admonished him.

"How could I have been? She fled off to Europe for three months!"

"And you didn't go after her," Tony answered.

"She didn't want me to!" Jed cried. "I was giving her freedom, the freedom to forgive me for what I'd done. But instead of finding forgiveness, she found you!"

"As fate would have it."

"Oh, no. That was not fate. Fate is planning to become a priest and then meeting the woman who persuades you otherwise. That is fate."

"Would you consider deception and betrayal fate as well?" Tony asked.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly to what I'm referring, Mr. President."

"I'm not sure that's any of your business!" Jed replied.

"Abbey made it my business."

"I'm standing right here!" Abbey exclaimed. Though she was on the verge of tears, she made a bland attempt at lightening the mood. "I'm not used to being fought over."

"Please," Jed scoffed.

"Excuse me." She looked at him sideways, failing to conceal her sardonic smirk.

"Mr. President." Tony cleared his throat. "You and I have always had a friendly relationship, one that included the Prime Minister. I would hate for what's happened between us to jeopardize your liaison with the Prime Minister."

"Tony, the Prime Minister is here."

"Here?"

"Yes, here. In Washington. We're having dinner this evening," Jed stated.

"I wasn't aware of this," Tony replied, dumbfounded.

"Evidently. How's your relationship with the Prime Minister?"

"May I ask, sir, what this meeting is regarding?"

"Take it up with Blair. I'm not inclined to tell you anything at this point"  
"That's very thoughtful of you, sir," Tony replied, dryly.

"Yeah, well, my job is not to make your life easier."

"Or anyone else's for that matter."

"You wanna run that one by me again, Prescott?" Jed challenged.

"I said, Mr. President, that you…"

"Tony!" Abbey said, quickly. "I would really hate to see you say something you'll regret, so why don't you come with me? I think we need to have a few words."

Tony nodded.

"Yes." He looked in Jed's direction as he backed away. "Mr. President."

Jed returned the nod cordially.

"Sir Anthony."

Abbey subtly took Tony's arm and led him out of the room and out of Jed's eye and earshot. She led him far from the prying eyes of agents stationed steadfast around the Residence.

"Look, Abbey, I apologize for the way I acted back there. It was inappropriate and incredibly disrespectful."

"Yes, it was," Abbey responded. "But that isn't what we need to discuss."

"Really, I insist on apologizing to him. I feel awful."

"That's fine. I'm sure he'll appreciate that, even if he doesn't let on. But we need to talk"  
"All right."

"My husband was wrong. I didn't use you. At least, I hadn't planned to. I genuinely enjoy your company, and you've been a wonderful friend to me over the past months."

"Friend?"

"Yes," she said, quietly. "I'm sorry I lead you on. I shouldn't have. You know just as well as I do that I haven't exactly been in my right mind these last few months. I was hurting, and I wanted to hurt Jed for causing me all that pain. But all it did was cause me more pain. And in the process, I've managed to get you mixed up in my maelstrom of emotional complexities. For that, I'm truly sorry."

"Okay," Tony sighed. "Stop me if I'm interpreting this wrong, but are you breaking up with me?"

Abbey hesitated.

"If we were sixteen and standing outside our high school cafeteria, then…yes. But sixteen has come and gone, and we're standing in the White House."

"The end result is the same."

"Yes."

Tony nodded.

"I understand."

"Do you?" She asked, uncertainly.

"Abbey, you've been the farthest thing from content since the day I met you. I tried, but I couldn't make you happy. As much as it pains me to say it, I know exactly who will. And you know it too. You need to fix your marriage. Just because mine ended in shambles doesn't mean yours needs to do the same."

Abbey smiled, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Thank you for understanding. Your support means a lot to me."

"Friends?"

She nodded.

"Friends."

"Scrabble?"

"Nah."

"Uno?"

"No."

"Poker?"

"No."

Amy Gardner stared at Josh Lyman incredulously.

"Oh, come on, I've never known you to turn down poker before."

"I'm turning it down now," Josh replied. "And anyway, you can't play with just two people."

"You could play Crazy Eights."

"Amy, I am not playing Crazy Eights with you."

"Scared?"

"Yes," Josh answered. "Petrified."

"Now that's an answer I'll accept," Amy conceded.

She lifted her feet onto his desk and leaned back in her chair, her eyes wandering around the room awkwardly.

"J."

Josh's looked up and lifted an eyebrow at her.

"A."

"How long is this gonna go on?"

"I don't know," he answered, honestly.

"I'm bored."

"You have your own office, you know, with lots of work to do."

"Nah. Hardly any," Amy said.

"The First Lady's back in town after almost six months, and you've got nothing to do?"

"I was told not to do anything until I met with her."

"When is that happening?"

"I don't know." She shrugged. "Later today. Whenever her majesty summons me."

"You pissed at her?"

"Not really. She made her bed and now she has to lie in it. She'll be facing enough consequences without me getting on her case."

"I'd be pissed. In fact, I am pissed," Josh said.

"Josh, I've known the First Lady my entire life. I find it very difficult to be angry at her for an extended period of time."

"Yeah, well, I've known her for seven years and I find it almost painfully easy to be angry at her for an extended period of time."

"You looking to get your ass kicked?" Amy questioned.

"Depends on who's doing the kicking."

"The First Lady's got friends in very high places. Namely…the President."

"You think the President's in her corner right now?" Josh inquired.

"Abbey Bartlet could commit murder and he'd still be in her corner."

"What a strange relationship."

"It's called love, J."

When he noticed Amy's attention divert toward the doorway of his office, Josh glanced up to find Leo standing in the doorway, harried and rushed.

"The President wants you back in the war room."

Josh immediately stood from his desk, grabbed his jacket, and ran down the hallway after his boss, leaving Amy, silent and alone, in his office.

Once she said goodbye to Tony, Abbey began to pace the Residence in search of her husband. It was not until after she checked the kitchen, the bedroom, and the dining room that she found him in his studying. He stood behind his desk, studiously gathering papers and placing them inside his briefcase.

"Hey."

He looked up at her, over the rims of his glasses.

"Hey."

"What's going on?"

"I'm heading downstairs. Josh's back in the war room," Jed replied, distractedly.

"I'm glad."

"It's time to remind Haffley who's the President around here."

Abbey nodded.

"Tony's leaving."

Jed paused, his eyes frozen on her figure in the doorway. The joy he felt at hearing those words he kept well concealed, a stoic disposition intact.

"Good."

He closed his briefcase and, with it in tow, began walking toward the door. As he passed her, Abbey wrung her hands nervously, before crying out his name. He stopped in his tracks and whipped around, waiting expectantly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that I left, I'm sorry I took Zoey from you, I'm sorry I…I'm sorry for everything. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to get this far. I'm so sorry for all the hurt I've caused you, and everyone else. I was wrong. That's not say I condone what you did, but I was wrong. I know you have a lot happening right now, and you need to focus, but…I just wanted to let you know that I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."

She would never be able to fully understand exactly what it meant to him for her to say such things. He knew she was sorry, and he knew she hadn't intended for the situation to get so out of hand, but he needed to hear her say it.

"Good," Jed replied, choking back the tears he didn't want her to see. "I'm gonna need you to play hostess with the Blairs tonight."

As a grateful, relieved smile spread across her face, Jed felt an overwhelming sense of happiness. It had been six months since he had witnessed a smile like Abbey's, luminous and honest. The corners of his mouth lifted into a half-smile, paling in comparison to hers, but genuine nonetheless. Absorbing her appearance one last time, he turned and continued out the door.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Washington, D.C.

"Don't talk to me about Abbey, Leo."

As President Bartlet and Leo McGarry marched through the West Wing, all those in their paths instantly scattered and anyone caught sitting immediately stood, out of respect.

"I wasn't going to, sir."

"Yeah, you were."

"Well, can you blame me?" Leo questioned.

"No," Jed answered, honestly. "But try to control yourself, all right?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Thank you."

"So what'd she say?"

"Leo!" Jed exclaimed in frustration.

"Are you pissed that I called her?"

"No. If she hadn't come, who knows if she'd have ever shown Prescott the door. You did the right thing."

"And look at you now," Leo commented. "On your way to kick the crap out of the Speaker."

"This is not because of her."

Leo smirked and shook his head.

"Yeah, it is."

"She had nothing to do with it."

"Sir, you know just as well as I do that you'd be sitting in the Residence boiling macaroni right now if she hadn't come back."

"Anyway," Jed said, intent on changing the subject. "How's Millie?"

"Pissed."

"Pissed and withholding sex or just pissed?"

"I don't know. I haven't had the chance to find out yet," Leo answered, as if the thought had never occurred to him.

"Yeah. What'd you do?"

"She doesn't want to go to Jenny's wedding in February. That's all."

"You want her to go?"

"She's one of Jenny's best friends. Of course she should go."

"Yeah, but she's with you now. You don't think it's a little awkward to go to your best friend's wedding while you're dating her ex-husband?"

"Why should it be?" Leo asked, naively.

"Women," Jed lamented, thinking of his own troubles.

Leo nodded.

"Women."

Unaware of her open office door, Amy Gardner paced her East Wing office frantically, muttering obscenities under her breath. Her meeting with the First Lady had not gone quite as planned, not that many things involving Abbey Bartlet ever did. Abbey had, as she often did, disregarded her advice and gotten a second opinion from CJ. Though Amy was certain CJ would have told her the same thing, that didn't make her less uneasy. Pausing in front of her desk, Amy tapped her foot anxiously against the hardwood floor and began chewing on her lip. So engaged was she in her thoughts that she didn't notice when Sam Seaborn entered her office.

"Hey."

She whirled around in a frenzy, her eyes widening slightly at the rare sight of him.

"Well, this is a surprise."

"It's been awhile since I've been down here. Office looks nice," Sam commented.

"Thanks. What's up?"

"Josh wanted me to give you a message."

"Josh sent you to the East Wing to give me a message?" Amy asked, incredulously.

"Yeah."

"Why didn't he just call me? Or…send Donna."

"I was on my way here anyway," Sam explained, rather unconvincingly.

"Why?"

"No reason."

Amy gazed at him suspiciously.

"All right. What's the message?"

"Uh, 'Sorry about the lack of Crazy Eights and such.'"

"That's his message," Amy replied in disbelief.

"Yes," Sam answered.

"Exact words or are you paraphrasing?"

"Quote unquote."

"Figures."

"You know what that means?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Sad as that is."

"Good, 'cause he said you would but I wasn't sure that…"

"Sam." Amy stopped him.

"Right. Did you talk to the First Lady?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And she's…as difficult as ever," Amy replied.

"She gonna make a statement?"

"Sam, there isn't a psychic in the world who could predict what Abbey Bartlet is gonna do."

"You could try her Ouja board." Sam smirked.

"Right, 'cause we don't have enough scandal here at the First Lady's office."

"You know what I think?"

"What?" Amy asked.

"And this is pure speculation on my part and by no means can I back this up, but I think this has been building for quite awhile."

"What has?"

"The thing with the First Lady. I think the tension's been mounting since the President announced his reelection campaign," Sam said.

"You think so?"

"I'm not saying the President and First Lady have been walking on eggshells or been at war since then. I mean, I did catch them in a rather compromising position on election night. I'm just saying somewhere, in the back of her mind…"

"Yeah. I don't know. It's possible, I guess."

"She lost her medical license."

"I know," Amy answered, pensively. She knew exactly what he meant by that.

"Okay. I'm just gonna…go. Now."

He started to back out.

"Hey," Amy called, stopping him in his tracks.

"Yeah."

"You wanna go down to the mess and get some coffee?"

Sam looked up at her in amazement, and then smiled.

"Sure."

"CJ."

CJ Cregg, filled to the brim with tension and anxiety, glanced up from the paperwork on her desk at the First Lady standing in her office doorway. She immediately stood, removing her glasses from her smile and smiling cordially at her boss.

"Mrs. Bartlet."

Abbey smiled back, however awkwardly, and entered the room further.

"Sit down, CJ."

"Yes, ma'am," CJ answered, complying without question.

"We need to talk," Abbey stated, lowering herself onto the couch.

"Yes, ma'am"  
"Tony's gone."

"Yes, ma'am, I saw him leave. As did the press."

Abbey nodded.

"Yeah. Listen, I know you're not thrilled with me right now."

"Mrs. Bartlet…"

"Abbey."

"Abbey. I would like to point out that this really is not about me," CJ said.

"I'm making it about you, CJ, and I want you to talk to me."

The younger woman allowed her eyes to wander for a minute, as she gathered the courage display the kind of honesty Abbey Bartlet, at least the old Abbey Bartlet, deserved.

"No, I'm not thrilled. I'm disappointed, I'm hurt, I'm…"

"Angry?" Abbey assumed.

"No, not angry. Just hurt."

"Well, I apologize. I'm sorry, CJ. I'm sorry for what you've had to endure these last few months because of my actions."

"Okay." CJ nodded. "You wanted to make a statement?"

"Yes."

"Right. Well, I was considering it, and I'm not entirely sure that's the best idea."

"What?" Abbey asked, surprised.

"I think you should delegate this to Amy. I'll work with her on it, but I think it'd be best, for you, if you just stayed out of the spotlight for a little while."

"Why?"

"Because if you make a statement to the press, you're going to have to delve a lot deeper into this situation than you're probably willing to go. You'll need to tell them why you left the White House, why you left the country, why you overdosed in England, and why you're back. But more than that, you'll need to explain the nature of your relationship with Sir Anthony, as well as the current state of your relationship with the President. In short, you're gonna need to get up close and personal with the American people, and I know you're a very private person. There will be questions about Oliver Prescott, there will be questions about Mark Schaefer, there will be questions about your psychiatrist and about your father."

"What are you saying, CJ?"

"I'm saying, Abbey, that you're gonna get your ass kicked if you go into the press room," CJ said, bluntly.

"Is it better than leaving things unsaid?"

"That's entirely up to you, what you think you can handle. You have two options. You can say something, or you can not say something. But if you say something, you're gonna need to say a lot more than you're probably comfortable with. There's no in-between here."

Abbey hesitated, considering CJ's advice carefully.

"Do you think I can handle it?"

CJ nodded.

"I think you can, yes. You're generally very good with the press, you're articulate and expressive, you're tough as nails, and you look great on camera. But that doesn't mean it's the right thing for you to do right now, and I'm telling you that as a friend, not as your husband's press secretary. You might want to wait until you get back on your feet."

Abbey laughed cynically.

"That could take awhile."

"Let the public, the press, and the President take their time adjusting to your homecoming, and we'll go from there. I don't think it would be such a bad idea to give yourself a little time to adjust either, if you don't mind my saying so."

"You might be right," Abbey conceded. "But we both know I'm no good at closeting my feelings. And I'm not sure it would be fair to the American people to keep them guessing."

"Due respect, Abbey, but…we're all still guessing. You're still guessing. It won't hurt them to do the same for a little while."

"How's your afternoon shaping up for tomorrow?"

"Excuse me?" CJ replied, thoroughly bewildered.

"Nevermind, I'll go talk to Carol," Abbey said, standing up.

"Abbey…"

"We'll talk tomorrow, CJ. I've got a Prime Minister to attend to."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Washington, D.C.

Tony and Cherie Blair stared blankly at the First Couple before them. The President and First Lady, positioned on the couch opposite the Blairs, sat with about a foot between them, though they did not seem to be angry. It was a cautious, inconspicuous thing, one neither Blair was poised to comment on, to each other or to the Bartlets. Reacting to the ominous silence that had taken hold of the meeting, Cherie straightened her posture, re-crossed her legs daintily, and lifted her glass of red wine to her lips. Tony glanced at her fleetingly, then smiled warily at their hosts.  
Upon their arrival to the White House, the Blairs ran into a devastated Sir Anthony Prescott, in the middle of his departure. The Blairs, of course, questioned their old friend but their inquiries were met with curt replies, culminating in the exodus of Sir Anthony. And so, England's equivalent of a First Couple shrugged their shoulders and neglected to consider the matter further. Tony and Cherie had not, as they expected, been "briefed" on the state of the First Couple's union. In fact, Abbey Bartlet's presence alone startled them a bit. The last they had heard, Abbey was living in Manchester with Sir Anthony, which had, undoubtedly, put them in a rather difficult position. The Prime Minister was faced with the daunting task of making the choice between loyalty to his own, and loyalty to the country he liked to consider Britain's partner. The last few months had certainly put a strain on America's alliance with the crown. Now, sitting before America's venerable First Couple, the discomfiture of the situation was settling over them like a black rain cloud.

"More wine?"

Surprised by the sudden termination of silence, Cherie quickly shook her head and smiled nervously at the First Lady.

"No. Thanks very much."

Tony shifted uncomfortably in his seat and placed his glass on the table.

"We, uh, saw you on CNN earlier, Abbey"  
Her face lit up, an illumination strengthened only by the bright smile that followed.

"Did you?"

"Yes indeed. Your press secretary turned it on for us in the Mural Room while we waited for Leo," Tony replied. "You're quite the culinary artist."

The President laughed heartily and rolled his eyes.

"It's all a mirage, Tony." Jed grinned. "A little sleight of hand, if you will."

Though Abbey glared at her husband in response, both Tony and Cherie could sense her playful attitude and were duly relieved.

"All he can cook is chili," Abbey said of her husband.

Cherie smiled and nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

"All Tony can cook is curry and not much else."

"I resent that!"

"And excellent curry at that," Cherie amended, prompting a smile from her husband.

While in London, Abbey had spent a considerable amount of time, in both personal and professional capacities, meeting with the Blairs. During that time, she had developed a solid friendship with Cherie Booth Blair, a woman of remarkable accomplishment. They had become fast friends, as they had much in common. Both influential and incredibly successful in their fields, they both agreed that life as a hostess had its tedious moments. In fact, tedious was putting it lightly.

"I'd love to see what the two of them would come up with if we locked them in the kitchen together," Abbey said, looking in Cherie's direction.

"Some unimaginably ghastly combination of curry and chili, I surmise."

"Currili, anyone?"

The two women burst into convulsions of laughter while their husbands both leaned back, irritated, and took long sips from their wine glasses.

"Oh, for pity's sake, Tony," Cherie said, slapping her husband's shoulder.

"Whatever happened to that charming sense of humor I so admire?"

"It was conquered by my wife's clearly far more dominant one."

"Ah, yes," Cherie replied. "It's a shame that, being the powerful men you are, you're both sentenced to a lifetime married to equally commanding women."

Though the Prime Minister's wife instantly regretted using the word 'lifetime' where the First Couple was concerned, as she was more than uncertain of the future of their marriage, Cherie kept her composure intact. Abbey raised her wine glass in wholehearted agreement to her words.

"Women with high degrees in law and medicine."

"The best of all the lawyers and thoracic surgeons in their respective countries."

"If you ladies would like to continue patting yourselves on the back, why don't you take it outside, hmm?" Tony suggested, not unkindly.

Cherie quickly stood, taking her wine glass with her.

"Don't mind if we do. Come along, Abbey. Let the boys have their little pity party."

Without hesitation, Abbey complied. Gripping their beloved glasses firmly, they exited the room, exuding a mock air of superiority and hauteur, and proceeded towards the Truman Balcony.

Amy Gardner threw her head back in laughter with such force that her stockinged feet nearly slipped off the table. She pressed on her chair, tilting it back, then allowed it to hit the ground once more. Sitting across the table from her, Sam Seaborn laughed just as profusely, though he was much better at concealing his amusement than Amy was. He lifted his mug of coffee to his lips and took a long, fortifying sip.  
"Oh, man," Amy sighed. "You're killing me, Seaborn."

"I'm glad," Sam replied. "Though I have to admit, you might be the first woman who has ever found me quite so entertaining."

"Like hell I am."

"No, really. I'm the idealistic wordsmith. Josh is the funny one."

"Josh is a cocky little jackass," Amy commented, with only a little disdain.

"Well, sure. Besides that, I mean."

"However, it has to be said that jackasses have never come in packages quite as deftly charismatic as Joshua Lyman."

"It also has to be said that it is becoming increasingly evident that you're Abbey Bartlet's right-hand woman."

"Why?"

"Jackass," Sam answered, simply.

"Ah, yes," Amy agreed. "Just a little something I picked up from the boss."

"One of what I assume must be many charming habits and inclinations you've acquired during your time here."

"You bet, Sammy."

"I think you should make it a point never to call me that again," Sam suggested, smiling.

"Duly noted."

Upon his arrival in the mess, Josh Lyman paused in the doorway, his eyes locked upon the sight of Amy and Sam lounging at the far end of the room.

"What the hell are you guys doing down here?" Josh asked, bewildered.

Sam and Amy both snapped their heads to one side, to face Josh.

"Hey, Josh," Sam said.

"How ya doin', J?" Amy questioned.

"Yeah. Whatever. How long have you been down here?"

"Oh, I don't know." Amy looked to Sam for the information.

"Two and a half hours, maybe?" Sam guessed. "Grab a cup of coffee and sit down."

Josh merely shook his head, still in the process of digesting the sight before them.

"The Blairs still here?" Sam inquired.

"Yeah," Josh answered, distracted. "They're staying the night."

"Josh?" Amy said.

"Huh."

"You all right?"

"Fine," Josh responded. "I'm just gonna head back up now and, you know, get some work done."

"You sure you don't want to join us?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. I'll see you later."

Not long after the sun had set, Abbey Bartlet and Cherie Blair stood on the Truman Balcony, staring in awe at the astounding view. Though the frigid November air threatened their placid moment, the two women remained unperturbed.

"So, we haven't had a chance to talk yet, just the two of us."

Abbey shrugged her shoulders.

"Well, I guess we'll have to seize this moment and do so."

"What's going on, Abbey?" Cherie asked, sympathetically.

"It's been a long day. Where do I begin?"

"Well, I saw a certain Prescott fellow earlier, on his way out as I was on my way in."

"Yes," Abbey murmured.

"Did you show him the door?"

"Well, not literally, as I have people who do that for me, but figuratively, yes."

"You know Prescott's one of my closest friends," Cherie stated.

"I'm sorry."

"No, no. Don't apologize. Your marriage is far more important than any friendship I may or may not have. You have my full support in any endeavor you should choose to engage in."

Abbey smiled, genuinely touched and endlessly grateful.

"You don't know how much I appreciate that, Cherie."

"Tell me what's happening with the President."

"I don't know, to be honest. We have a lot to work on and we're nowhere near the end of the road yet, but…I think there's potential."

"So he does want to fix this."

"God, I hope so," Abbey said in a desperate whisper.

"Somehow, I think it will all work out. I never told you this before, but there was a time when Tony and I held quite a bit of contempt for you two."

"Why!"

"We envied your marriage," Cherie replied simply. "Don't get me wrong. Tony and I are as happy as we've ever been. But you and Jed…you always had something we didn't. And whatever that something is, I know it'll be your saving grace. It'll work out."

"I don't know, Cherie. You have no idea what…"

"Abbey. I understand more than anyone else. In some strange, unexplainable way I admire what you did. You took off on your own, you fled the nest. I know how it feels to be suffocated, cooped up, and reduced to throwing soirees and putting on a happy face when I'm pissed as hell. I wish I could do what you did. Granted, you took it to the extreme and there are things you should have done differently. Hell, Abbey, your youngest daughter had just been kidnapped and your husband was responsible. You did what any woman, any wife, any mother with a pulse would have done. Sure, you probably should have left Tony Prescott alone, but you were acting on impulse. You wanted to hurt him the way he hurt you. I've been there. And honestly, I think this has been building for quite some time. Because of Jed, you lost your medical license and gained a whole new identity, one I'm not convinced you wanted. It's been a rough five years for you, on so many levels. If you ask me, you finally just…exploded. I think if you explain that to Jed, he'll understand, in his own way. That doesn't mean things will be gung-ho happy right away, but I can't imagine that he would reject your explanation. Your job now is to regain his trust, and vice versa. Once you can trust each other again, everything will be a little easier."

"You think so?" Abbey asked, quietly.

"I do, love. I absolutely do."

"You don't think I need to fix my life before I work on fixing my marriage?"

"Darling, life and marriage move at the same speed. They thread along the same road and travel at the same pace. When affects your life, affects your marriage and what affects your marriage affects your life. In a way, the terms are synonymous. Fix one, fix the other. Just take it one day at a time. Each step you make towards fixing your life will go a long way in fixing your marriage, and vice versa."

"Trust, huh?"

Cherie nodded.

"Trust."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Washington, D.C.

Darkness was no match for Leo McGarry.

Noticing the lack of sunlight outside, he merely shrugged his shoulders and switched on the small lamp on his desk. After the longest few days of their lives, Sam Seaborn, Toby Zielger, Josh Lyman, CJ Cregg, Will Bailey, and Amy Gardner returned to their quiet, empty apartments and marinated in the lonely atmosphere until 5am rolled around once more. Leo, however, remained unaffected by the time of day and the heavy workload that had burdened him recently.

When Millicent Griffith appeared in the doorway, she expected him to be delighted by her presence and treat it as a welcome distraction. After nearly two minutes, he still hadn't so much as lifted his head to acknowledge her.

"It's clear to me now why Jenny showed you the door."

At the sound of her voice, Leo's head shot up, his eyes wide.

"Sorry. I didn't see you there," he said.

"I noticed."

Millie sauntered closer to his desk until she was hovering above him, ominously. Leo glanced back up at her, his eyes reflecting only a hint of annoyance.

"Something I can help you with?"

Millie looked at him incredulously and sat on the edge of the desk's cluttered surface.

"Yeah. You said we would talk once you fixed the Fall of the American Empire."

"I still have some loose ends to tie up. Can we talk tomorrow?"

"No."

"No," Leo repeated, in disbelief.

"That's right."

"Fine."

He dropped his pen and swiveled his chair to face her directly.

"Talk."

"I'm not going to the wedding, Leo," Millie stated, resolutely.

Leo sighed.

"Don't you think this is getting a little redundant?"

"Yeah, it's redundant, but that doesn't make it unnecessary."

"You're going to the wedding, Millie. You're one of Jenny's best friends."

"I'm also sleeping with her ex-husband. How's that gonna look?"

"Well, as long as you're not sleeping with her future husband…"

"Leo."

"Millie, just go to the damn wedding," Leo ordered, thoroughly frustrated.

"My loyalty lies with you, not Jenny."

Despite his best efforts, Leo could not reconcile himself to argue with that particular statement. It had been a long time since he had been granted the unwavering loyalty of a woman, and he wasn't going to jeopardize their relationship by questioning her judgment.

"Leo?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Look, I'm not gonna fight with you anymore. If you don't want go, don't go."

Millie nodded with satisfaction.

"Okay."

The couple sat in silence for a moment, both ruminating upon the words that had just been spoken between them. Millie understood that Leo was more on the stoic side, but she had expected an entirely different reaction to her proclamation.

"I meant what I said, you know."

Leo merely nodded and cracked a slight smile.

"Yeah."

She observed his indifferent expression circumspectly, then stood from the desk and walked around until she stood in front of him. He lifted his gaze to meet hers.

"There's really no getting through to you, is there?" Millie questioned, placing her hands on her hips.

He let out a pained sigh and leaned back in his chair.

"Millie, you know I'm not…"

"Oh, yeah. I know you're not, Leo. But I am."

She flashed him a melancholy smile that broke his heart, then turned on her heel and left the office without another word.

After they recovered from the initial discomfiture that ensued upon the inception of their meeting, the Bartlets and the Blairs engaged in a lively conversation that kept the occupied for the better part of the evening. The two couples had always gotten along famously, and now found their bond strengthened even more. The friendship between Abbey Bartlet and Cherie Blair had certainly flourished and the relationship between the President and the Prime Minister was now supported by much more than political alliance.

Shortly before midnight, the Blairs retired to one of the many bedrooms in the Residence, leaving the Bartlets alone to deal with a reality neither one of them wanted to face. Once they had bid the Blairs goodnight, all smiles and good cheer, they turned to face one another, all evidence of bliss obsolete. This was the moment they had both feared since the moment Abbey returned to the White House. Now, with no obligatory duties to perform or guests to entertain, there was nothing standing between them. Nothing tangible anyway.

They stood in the hallway, with less than a foot separating them, as he avoided her gaze. He knew her searching eyes were bound to make contact with his, but he wasn't entirely certain that he could handle facing her sparkling green orbs head on.

"Well," Abbey said, almost pleasantly, with a sigh.

"Well," Jed mumbled gruffly in return.

Pleased that he hadn't needed to make the first move towards communication, his eyes dared to find hers. Just as the contact was initiated, her gaze quickly dropped to the floor.  
"It's late," she whispered.

He narrowed his eyes in confusion and glanced down at his watch. 11:47 PM.

"Yeah."

She shifted uncomfortably, still not allowing her eyes to meet his.

"We should probably get some rest."

"Rest," Jed repeated. "Right. Yeah."

Abbey smiled vaguely, then turned and began the stroll to her bedroom. He watched her for a moment, not registering at first the direction in the which she was headed. It was not until she reached the bedroom door that the lightbulb in his head illuminated and began flashing incessantly.

"Abbey!"

She whirled around without hesitation and regarded him expectantly.

"I…"

Abbey took a tentative step closer to him as he stumbled somewhat over his words.

"I think…"

"What?" She asked, gently.

"I think…maybe you should sleep in the Lincoln Bedroom."

She stared at him vacantly, completely blank and impassive, waiting for his words to sink in. She took a deep breath and exhaled quietly, attempting to conceal her simultaneous feelings hurt and surprise.

"Okay," Abbey replied, agreeably. "Goodnight."

She smiled amiably at him and he contributed considerable effort in smiling back. But as she turned the corner, her expression fell into a frown and her eyes began to well up with tears.

Manchester, New Hampshire

"Checkmate!"

Zoey Bartlet raised an eyebrow at her befuddled opponent and grinned mischievously. Shocked and slightly embarassed by this unforeseen defeat, Oliver Prescott shook his head in disbelief, vindicating her. Her confidence sufficiently reinforced, she winked at her dubious boyfriend and flirtatiously blew him a kiss.

"I haven't the faintest idea how you managed that one, Miss, but I must say, I am enormously impressed."

Zoey straightened her posture and folded her arms across her chest defiantly.

"Damn right."

Oliver took another look at the chess board and, once again, shook his head with incredulity.

"No one's ever beaten me at chess before, save for my father."

"Ditto that," Zoey replied with a smirk. "We were trained by the best."

"Apprentices to the masters."

"God, what I wouldn't sacrifice to see our fathers duel over a chess match."

Oliver shrugged.

"I imagine it would be something like watching them duel over your mother"  
"You know, I think my mother might have a thing for geeky chess champions," Zoey remarked.

He smiled warmly at her and lifted himself off the ground to join her on the couch.

"Like mother, like daughter."

Zoey giggled.

"Rare is the man who willingly deems himself a geek."

Oliver draped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him.

"And privileged is the woman who dates that man."

As Oliver leaned forward to steal a kiss, the precious moment was ruined by the front door bursting open, followed by a gust of the bitterly cold late November air. Oliver and Zoey quickly separated, their attention instantly focused on the intruder.

"Dad!" Oliver exclaimed, hopping off the couch to greet him.

Wordlessly, Sir Anthony Prescott closed the door, unraveled his scarf, and removed his jacket in one fluid motion. Zoey sat up on her knees and leaned over the back of the couch.

"I thought you were in DC with Mom."

"I was," Tony answered. "Until she ousted me."

"What do you mean, she ousted you?" Oliver questioned.

"She ousted me. Kicked me out, showed me the door. One look at your dear old dad, Zoey, and I was history."

Zoey blushed and averted her eyes from both his and Oliver's icy ones.

"I'm sorry, Tony," she said, quietly.

"No, you're not," Tony answered, though not entirely unkindly.

"No," Zoey admitted. "I'm not."

"That's all right. It's my own damn fault. I should have known better than to invest my emotions in a married woman."

"Pretty much, yeah," she said.

Oliver glared at her.

"Zoey."

"What!"

He shook his head and returned his attention to his father.

"It wasn't entirely your fault, Dad. She shouldn't have lead you on like she did."

Tony nodded pensively.

"Yes. Anyway. I'm going to go pack up my things. I'm going to catch the next flight to Heathrow. Ollie?"

"Yeah."

"You coming?"

"Where?"

Tony laughed.

"Home!"

Oliver turned and looked at Zoey apprehensively. Her eyes were wide and glistening with potential tears.

"Well? Are you coming or not?" Tony pressed him.

When Oliver glanced back at Zoey, she had already turned her head in the opposite direction, not wanting to influence his decision with her tears. Oliver bit his lip and looked back at his father.

"I don't know."

Washington, D.C.

Jed couldn't believe he had said that to her. He couldn't believe he had pushed her away when he wanted so desperately to be close to her. No, he reassured himself, he was right to do what he'd done. She couldn't expect to be welcomed back into their bedroom, or his heart, with open arms. Could she?

Abbey didn't know what she had expected. She knew it would take a great deal of time and effort to repair what had been broken in her marriage, yet the thought of not sleeping in her own bedroom had never occurred to her. It made sense when she considered it, but that thought did nothing to diminish the pain it caused her to hear his words replay in her mind.

She didn't mind sleeping in the Lincoln Bedroom. In fact, she was fond of Lincoln Bedroom in and of itself. Often when Jed was away, that was where she would sleep. Well aware of the rumors that it was haunted by the ghost of Abraham Lincoln, none of them deterred Abbey. The rumors were one of many reasons she loved the bedroom. She enjoyed the distraction, especially with Jed far away. She found it difficult to sleep in their own bed without him in it, and the Lincoln Bedroom was her refuge during that time. Now, it appeared that it was to become her sanctuary once again.

After taking a long, soothing shower, Jed changed into a Notre Dame t-shirt and boxers. Instead of crawling into bed and sleeping until Christmas as he had hoped to do, he began to pace the room. He ran his fingers through his hair nervously, as he contemplating the idea of Abbey sleeping just yards away from him, all alone. He imagined her small body curled up in the middle of the large antique bed and cringed at the thought.

Having changed into her own silk pajamas, Abbey stood at the foot of the Victorian rosewood bed. She admired the elaborately detailed headboard and the design which reminded her of a cathedral. Shifting her gaze to either side of the bed, she observed the portraits of Andrew Jackson and Mary Todd Lincoln. Whenever she spent the night, she liked to imagine Mrs. Lincoln and President Jackson protecting her from whatever spirits allegedly haunted the infamous room. Satisfied by her illusory security, Abbey pulled back the covers and climbed into the bed.

Once he had paced nearly every inch of his bedroom, Jed pulled on his bathrobe and set off to pace the hallways of the Residence. The agents watched him in bewilderment as he walked around the mansion aimlessly, obviously lost in thought. Their watchful eyes followed him as he passed by them time and time again, now muttering under his breath.

Abbey took one passing glance at the Gettyburg Address sitting on the desk a few feet from the bed, then leaned over and switched off the lamp. She pulled the wool blanket up over her shoulders and scrunched up into a fetal position.

Jed paused when his pacing brought him to the closed door of the Lincoln Bedroom. He stood in front of the blocked entrance, listening to no avail. Slowly, his hand crept to the doorknob involuntarily. Before his mind caught up with it, the knob had been twisted and the door itself pushed open. To his dismay, he was greeted by an endless pool of darkness from inside the room. For a moment, the darkness nearly overpowered him, but once he realized the door had been opened, it occurred to Jed that his subconscious decision had been made. He closed the door behind him and plowed through the darkness, threading past the shadows and silhouettes that stood in his way. When his eyes started to adjust to the lack of luminosity, he could discern the figure of his wife, now sitting up in bed, having been startled by his arrival.

"Jed?"

Jed moved closer to the bed and smiled. He had passed through the darkness, and she was the light. Flawed and full of impections, she was the light.

"We still have a long road to travel, Abbey, and we're far from our destination," he whispered, now standing beside the bed. "But I forgive you."

Though he could barely distinguish her facial expressions, he knew precisely what her reaction was. He gripped the corner of the blankets and lifted them as he crawled in beside her. Hesitantly, she relaxed her muscles and lowered herself back down onto the pillows, holding her breath. Jed wrapped a gentle arm around her waist and could almost see her smile despite the darkness the enveloped them. She twisted onto her side and was secretly delighted when his arm remained in its place. He inched closer to her until her body was molded against his.

"I forgive you."

Darkness was no match for Jed Bartlet.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Washington, D.C.

"Hands off, Griffith."

Millie yanked her hand back and replaced it under the covers. She bit her lip anxiously before turning her head and shooting a glance at the man lying next to her. He returned the glance in kind and his eyes reinforced his previous words. She narrowed her own eyes with determination and steathily, her hand peaked out from the covers once more as her arm reached over to the nightstand.

"Don't do it."

Disregarding him, she curled her fingers around the phone before looking at him defiantly.

"You are just like my daughter," he complained. "You do things deliberately to make me mad."

She laughed and compliantly removed her hand from the phone. Then she turned over on her side and face him, and chuckled at his disgruntled expression.

"You're no fun, Leo."

"I'm just looking out for your best interest."

"Calling my best friend is in my best interest!"

"No, it's not," Leo insisted. "Not right now. Call her in the morning."

Leo McGarry pulled the covers up around his shoulders and twisted away from her. She frowned, puzzled, and took hold of the covers, pulling them, and him as a result, closer to him. He glanced at her over his shoulder.

"What do you want?"

"I want to know what the hell is up your ass, Oscar!" Millie exclaimed

Leo rotated back around to face her once more, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"Oscar?"

"The Grouch!"

He shook his head and laughed, despite his best efforts to remain stoic.

"Wow, Mil."

"Clearly you do not have grandchildren."

"Take it up with Mallory."

"I just might"  
"Okay," Leo replied, rolling back over.

"Leo!"

"What the hell…"

"You're avoiding me," Millie accused him.

"I'm lying right beside you. If I was avoiding you, I wouldn't be here."

"You're emotionally distant."

"Oh, Jesus," Leo muttered under his breath. "Every day you remind me more and more of Jenny."

"Nothing wrong with that."

"Look, I'm not being emotionally distant, or whatever the hell it is you just said. I'm just tired. It's been a long day. Can we just go to sleep please?"

"Fine," Millie answered, turning away from him.

Leo sighed.

"You're pissed at me now."

"I'm trying to sleep here."

Stealing back his share of blankets, he rolled over so his back was to her once more.

"Fine."

Washington, D.C.

When Debbie Fiderer approached her desk the next morning, she found that the president's aide had beat her to her post. She observed him thoroughly as he shuffled through the papers on his desk, and then she waited for him to notice her prying eyes upon him. Charlie Young, however, was immuned to this tactic, having been a victim numerous times before. He kept his eyes glued to his desk, counting the seconds before she would snap.

"Charles."

Without glancing up at her, Charlie replied, "Deborah."

She frowned before closing the gap between him and standing on the opposite side of his cluttered desk.

"I want you to tell me everything you know about the First Lady's homecoming last night."

Charlie shrugged.

"I don't know any more than you do, Debbie."

"Oh, yes, you do. Don't hold out on me! I've always provided you with the information you've asked me for in times past."

"I've never asked you for information."

"I beg to differ. Why, just last night you asked me when the president was scheduled to meet with the Secretary of Labor, and, damnit, I told you!"

"Mmm, yeah, not so sure that counts," Charlie replied.

"Come on, Charlie!" Debbie implored him.

"No."

"Whatever happened to respecting your elders?"

"I do respect my elders. And in a battle between two elders such as yourself and the President, the President always wins."

"I'll remember that when I'm president."

"President of what?" Charlie questioned incredulously. "The United Association of Alpaca Farmers?"

Debbie narrowed her eyes in his direction and pursed her lips tightly.

"I'll remember that too."

"Okay, what's all this bickering about?"

Charlie and Debbie immediately spun around at the sound of the President's voice as he walked in from the portico.

"Mr. President!"

"Good morning, Debbie," Jed said, pleasantly.

"Good morning, sir."

"Charlie."

"Mr. President."

"How was your evening, sir?" Debbie questioned.

"Just fine," Jed answered. "Nothing to report."

Both Charlie and Debbie followed as Jed made his way into the Oval Office. He sat down behind his desk, and Charlie laid out a few files for him while Debbie stood quietly before them.

"Ms. Fiderer, is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well?" Jed glanced at her over the rim of his glasses.

"I was just wondering, out of pure curiosity…" Debbie said, hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"Nothing."

"Debbie?"

"Nothing, sir. Forget I said anything."

Jed regarded her suspiciously, then turned his attention to the papers that had been laid out before him.

"Okay."

"You have senior staff in five minutes, Mr. President," Charlie said.

"Yeah, thanks, Charlie."

Debbie and Charlie filed out of the office, closing the door behind them.

"Charlie, get Nancy to cover me while I go to the bathroom, would you?"

"If by the bathroom, you mean the First Lady's office, then no," Charlie replied.

"Is it so unreasonable that I should have to pee at this moment!"

"I think it is."

"Hey, I hired you, I can fire you too!" Debbie said.

"No, you can't."

"I'm going to the bathroom."

"Tell the First Lady I said hello."

Manchester, New Hampshire

"You have everything?"

Ellie Bartlet looked around at the suitcases that surrounded her and nodded at her older sister.

"I think so."

"You're sure?"

Ellie rolled her eyes.

"Liz."

"All right, all right," Liz conceded. "Just checking. I don't want you to get halfway to Baltimore and realize you forgot your toothbrush or something."

"Yes, because going to the store to pick up a new one is just a huge inconvenience."

"You know what I mean, smartass. Just for that, you can take a cab to the airport."

"Then you can lend me twenty bucks," Ellie replied.

"I think maybe you should stay here for a few more weeks," Liz said, apprehensively.

Ellie groaned and dropped her head onto her sister's shoulder.

"Liz! I'm fine! It's been over a month. I need to get back to work."

"Take a sabbatical."

"I did!"

"Take a longer one," Liz begged.

"You were the one who told me not to wallow in self-pity."

"I know, I know. I just don't want you in Baltimore all alone."

Leaning against the front door, Ellie folded her arms across her chest and gazed at her sister with irritation.

"I'm not alone. Mom and Dad are forty-five minutes away, and I do have friends in Baltimore you know. Mark wasn't my only human contact within a twenty mile radius."

"Yes, but he was your closest," Liz said, softly.

Ellie averted her eyes from her sister's and turned them to the floor. Suddenly, a force behind the door pushed it open, jostling Ellie out of place.  
"Sorry I'm late!" Zoey announced upon her entrance to the house. "Ooh, sorry, El. Didn't you see there."

"Evidently."

"You got here just in time," Liz stated. "Just in time to help me convince Ellie to stay."

"Why? We need her to go back to Baltimore so she can spy on Mom and Dad. She has to go."

"Thanks, Zo," Ellie retorted.

"So what's the word on Oliver?" Liz questioned her youngest sister. "Is he going back to the motherland with Tony or what?"

"Well, as a matter of fact," Zoey began somberly, before her face broke out into a huge grin. "He's staying!"

Ellie's eyes widened in fear.

"Then it's a good thing I'm going."

Washington, D.C.

Sam Seaborn closed the door behind him as he exited Amy Gardner's office in the East Wing of the White House. He had dropped by using the excuse that he had an extra bagel, left over from the dozen Ginger had brought in earlier that morning. In truth, it was not an extra bagel, as Bonnie had expressed a keen interest in eating it herself before Sam stole it from her desk and scurried off to the East Wing. Upon realizing her bagel had gone missing, Bonnie had phoned Amy and warned her that she had it on good authority that she was about to get a visitor. By the time Sam reached Amy's office, Amy had thrown out the bagel she bought herself so that she could accept Sam's offering when he arrived. To her disappointment, he showed up with the only kind of bagel she disliked- poppyseed. But, knowing what Sam had gone through to present her with said bagel, Amy sucked it up and ate it anyway. This lead to her choking with disgust at the exact moment Sam asked her on a date. After taking a long sip from her mocha latte, Amy nodded fervently in reply and they made plans for that evening.

Sam leaned against the closed door for a moment, digesting recents events. He had a date with Amy Gardner. He had a date with the First Lady's Chief of Staff. He had a date…with Josh Lyman's ex-girlfriend.

"Hey, Sam."

Sam lifted his now widened eyes to the sight of the First Lady herself standing before him. His lips curved into a forced smile as he regarded her, unsure of how to compose himself.

"Morning, ma'am."

"Fancy seeing you in the East Wing."

"Uh…"

Sam looked around nervously.

"You look a little flustered there, Sam. Everything all right?" Abbey questioned, with cordial concern.

"Yeah. Fine, thank you."

"Good. Listen, I'd like to talk with you if you have a chance, sometime today."

"Anytime you like, ma'am," Sam replied.

"How's your lunch hour shaping up?"

"Free as a bird."

"All right, then, it's a date," Abbey confirmed.

"Speaking of dates," Sam blurted out, before his mind had a chance to catch up with his mouth. "I just made a date with Amy."

Abbey stared at him wordlessly for a moment, partly due to his announcement and partly due to the bluntness he had exhibited.

"Really."

"Yeah. And…I have absolutely no earthly idea why I just informed you of this."

Abbey chuckled.

"I've found in the past that people have a great deal of trouble keeping things off my radar. Unless, of course, you're my husband."

Sam shifted his weight awkwardly.

"I…don't quite know how to respond to that, ma'am."

She smiled warmly at him, almost apologetically, and touched his arm lightly.

"It's okay. I shouldn't have said anything. I'll see you at noon?"

Sam nodded.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good."

With that, she moved past him and knocked on the door to Amy's office. Sam began to walk away, glancing over his shoulder as Amy opened the door and invited the First Lady inside. Paying less attention than a person should while walking through a busy hallway, it was no surprise when he bumped right into CJ Cregg.

"Little preoccupied there, Seaborn?" CJ questioned with amusement.

"Yeah," Sam replied, still a little on the distracted side. "Sorry"  
"What's going on?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. In fact, so much nothing that it's painfully boring"  
CJ raised an eyebrow at him, trying to suppress her laughter.

"Sounds an awful lot like something."

"No, no," Sam said, quickly. "Because something…would not be quite as boring as nothing. Nothing in the sense that…this is. Something, such as it is, would be a degree or two more interesting than nothing. This particular nothing, actually. Maybe not other…nothings, but this one, certainly."

"Sam, what the hell are you talking about!"

"In addition to now having a lunch date with the First Lady, for which I am exceptionally unprepared, I just made a date with Amy."

"Well…that's a lot more interesting than most nothings I've come across."

"Yeah. So…I'm gonna go pop a couple of Xanax because this is gonna be one helluva long day."

CJ could only smile helplessly as Sam continued on his way, and then she continued on hers. When she entered Amy Gardner's office, she found the First Lady sitting on the couch opposite the desk, on top of which Amy herself sat.

"Good morning, Mrs. Bartlet. Amy."

"Hi, CJ," Abbey said, pleasantly. "Have a seat."

"Yes, ma'am," CJ answered, sitting down beside her on the couch.

"So, what's up, ladies? I presume the two of you devised a plan to improve my public image or some such nonsense. What's on the agenda?"

"Mrs. Bartlet…" CJ began.

"Hey," Abbey interrupted. "The three of us have campaigned together, lobbied together, shopped together, and gotten drunk together. I think you've both earned the right to call me Abbey."

"Abbey," CJ amended. "Instead of having you address the nation, which we believe at this point would be a very bad idea, we have come up with a few things to help you connect with the public once more."

"More public appearances? More trips to Afganistan? Should I pull a Rosalynn Carter head to South America for a couple weeks?"

"No," Amy answered. "I think it's best if we keep you on American soil for the time being. In Washington, if at all possible."

"Okay. What do you want me to do?" Abbey asked.

"We'd like for you to appear at a Presidential Classroom seminar."

"Uh huh," she replied skeptically. "And just what would that entail?"

"It's fairly uncomplicated. You show up, speak for twenty minute to half an hour, then spend the next half an hour doing Q and A."

"Answering the questions of high school students," Abbey assumed.

"Not just high school students. These are the best and the brightest from across the country. These are intelligent kids," CJ stated. "They'll be briefed beforehand and instructed not to get personal with their questions."

"I think they should if they want to."

"What?" Amy asked.

"I think they should get personal. I've got nothing to hide. If they've got a question, let 'em ask it."

"Are you sure you want to do that? I mean, they're intelligent kids but that doesn't mean they're gonna stay within the bounds of…"

"Screw the bounds of privacy. If we're gonna do this, let's do this.  
" "Okay," CJ replied. "I'll call John Croft in the morning and we'll set it up. We can get Sam to write you a speech if you like."

Abbey smiled and stood.

"That won't be neccesary. Is there anything else?"

"No," Amy answered. "Although I was asked if you'd be attending the DAR function next week."

"Absolutely," Abbey replied. "Wouldn't miss it."

"You…hate the DAR, Abbey."

"Yeah, well, it's time for me to start making some sacrifices and thinking about someone besides myself."

Manchester, New Hampshire

After seeing Ellie off at the airport, Elizabeth Bartlet Westin drove her youngest sister back to the family farm. Zoey Bartlet had been in an embarassingly good mood all day long, fueled by the announcement that her boyfriend would not be leaving her after all. She jogged up the porch steps and burst through the front door, shocked to find all of the lights in the house off and not a sound to be heard. She walked through the house, glancing in every room she passed to see if anyone was there. When she reached the kitchen, she found a note on the counter addressed to her. Her hands trembled as she unfolded the paper and saw the words written upon it.

Oliver hadn't had the nerve to tell her himself, but he had caught the 12:15 flight to Heathrow with his father. So, he had lied.

And he was gone.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Washington, D.C.

"He thought he was off the record, Mr. President."

Leo McGarry's eyes followed the President faithfully as he paced the perimeter of the Oval Office.

"Damnit!" Jed exclaimed.

"Sir, I think you should just calm down for the time being. This isn't what you need to be focusing on right now. I'm delegating it to Josh. He's gonna handle it."

"Am I the only one pissed off about this?"

"No, sir," Leo replied. "Why do you think I'm letting Josh handle it? He's gonna tear the Secretary apart."

"Good. How's CJ doing?"

"She's working on it."

Jed shook his head in disbelief as Secretary Richardson's comment reappeared in his head for the millionth time.

"'It's about time Haffley solved this thing. Now we can move onto more pressing matters.'"

Leo nodded.

"I know."

"Haffley didn't solve anything," Jed stated.

"Yes, sir."

"Haffley was the problem."

"Yes, sir."

"Richardson makes the whole damn ordeal sound like a waste of time."

"It was a waste of time, Mr. President," Leo answered.

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, sir."

"Josh is on his way over now?" Jed questioned.

"Yeah."

The President's incessant pacing came to a halt in front of his desk.

"I want to talk to him."

"Josh?" Leo asked.

"Richardson."

"Mr. President, I'm not so sure…"

"DEBBIE!" Jed bellowed, cutting off Leo's words completely.

"Sir, if I could…"

Jed walked past him to the door.

"Where the hell is she!" He demanded, as he flung the door open. "Debbie!"

Charlie immediately stood from his position behind his own desk and faced his president.

"She's not here, sir."

"Where the hell is she?"

"She's…" Charlie hesitated, debating with his conscience on whether or not to be completely truthful about Debbie's whereabouts. "She went to the bathroom, sir."

She better have stopped off at the bathroom on the way, Charlie thought. Then it's only a white lie.

Following her meeting with Amy and CJ, Abbey returned to her East Wing office and closed the door behind her. She could hardly remember the last time she had been in her office, but she knew it had been well over six months. Nothing had changed. It was as if no one had even so much as entered it since she'd been gone. She walked behind her desk and lowered herself into the luxurious leather chair, swiveling back and forth for a few moments as she observed the scenery, such as it was. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her and she began rummaging through her desk drawers until she found the hair clip she had been looking for since June.

"Aha!"

Abbey pulled her hair back and twisted it up, allowing for the clip to hold it in place. Her hair sufficiently out of her way, she took notice of the many framed photographs on the still cluttered surface of her desk. One of her three girls together last Christmas, one of the Westins taken the previous Easter, one of her sisters taken three years before, her parents' wedding portrait circa 1940, and her own wedding portrait, circa 1967.  
"Excuse me. Mrs. Bartlet?"

Abbey glanced up and saw her door open a crack, but no one to be found.

"Yes?"

"It's Debbie, ma'am."

Abbey stood up from behind her desk and laughed as she moved toward the door. She pulled it all the way open and invited a sheepish looking Debbie Fiderer inside.

"How are you, Debbie?"

"Just fine, thank you, ma'am. How are you?"

"Good, thanks," Abbey replied.

She sat down on the couch against the wall and patted the cushion beside her as a gesture for Debbie to join her. Hesitantly, Debbie sat down beside the First Lady, folding her hands together and resting them in her lap.

"What can I do for you?"

"I…just wanted to say how glad I am that you're back," Debbie said.

"Thank you. I'm glad to be back."

"I know everyone's a little peeved at you, ma'am, but I really don't think I'm the only one who missed having you around. If you ask me, Charlie was a little bored."

"I'll be sure to provide him with a little entertainment now that I'm back," Abbey replied.

"I'm almost certain Toby missed arguing with you, and he took it out on me at every possible occasion. Sam missed collaborating with your speechwriting staff. You know how he loves writing for you. CJ's had to rely on Donna for female companionship and that's bound to get on anyone's nerves. And Will doesn't know what the hell to think."

Abbey laughed.

"So, despite how they may act, don't be fooled. They're all secretly thrilled that you're back."

"I appreciate you saying so, Debbie."

"And I know for a fact that the President's thrilled. That makes my job a helluva lot easier." Debbie grinned.

Seconds after a knock on the door, one of Abbey's interns entered the office.

"Mrs. Bartlet, I have a message for Debbie Fiderer from Charlie Young."

"Yes, go ahead."

The intern unfolded a piece of paper and recited the words she had scribbled upon it.

"'President staging a nutty. Looking for you. Come back ASAP.'"

Both Debbie and the First Lady immediately stood and followed the intern out of the office.

Manchester, New Hampshire

"I'm gonna castrate him."

"Liz."

"I'm going to perform unspeakable acts of violence upon him."

"Liz."

"He is going to experience a severe amount of pain, and it will be because of me."

"Liz!"

Elizabeth stopped pacing the room and stared at her youngest sister, who was sitting Indian-style on the couch.

"This is my problem. I'll handle it."

Liz sighed and sat beside Zoey, gazing at her sympathetically.

"What are you gonna do?"

Zoey hesitated for a moment and began rubbing her temples in an effort to alleviate the migraine that had begun to plague her.

"I'm gonna castrate him," she said, finally. "I'm gonna perform unspeakable acts of violence upon him."

Liz rolled her eyes.

"Zoey."

"He is going to experience a severe amount of pain and it will be because of me!"

"You're just gonna lock yourself in your bedroom with Breakfast at Tiffany's a pint of Ben and Jerry's, aren't you?"

"Chunky Monkey, to be specific," Zoey replied, glumly.

"You know, the amount of dysfunctional relationships in this family is astounding," Liz commented.

"You can say that again."

"You know, the amount of dys…"

"Liz."

"Right."

Washington, D.C.

When Abbey and Debbie finally reached the Oval Office, Charlie Young was waiting for them at his desk. He jumped out of his chair and approached them, looking more disheveled than usual.

"What's going on?" Abbey questioned.

"What kind of nutty, Charlie?" Debbie asked.

"Code Orange."

"Damnit," she muttered.

Abbey raised an eyebrow at the pair.

"Code Orange?"

"Yeah," Charlie answered. "You want to explain it, Debbie?"

"Let's put it this way," Debbie began. "While you were in London, the President was at Code Red. Post-reelection, the President was at Code Blue."

"So Code Orange…"

"Not bad, but not good either."

"Right," Abbey said. "What happened?"

"The Energy Secretary had a little slip of the tongue, around Katie Witt," Charlie explained.

"Oh, holy hell," Debbie murmured. "What did Richardson say?"

Just as Charlie opened his mouth to respond, the door to the Oval Office burst open, revealing the President and his trusty Chief of Staff.

"There you are. Are you through powdering your nose?" Jed questioned to Debbie.

"Yes, sir. Not that it did me much good."

"What is this?" He gestured to Abbey standing beside her. "Are the two of you bathroom buddies now?"

"Do I look like the Energy Secretary to you?" Abbey shot back.

"No."

"Then direct your hostility somewhere else please."

Jed groaned and turned away, heading back into his office. An exasperated Leo looked at Abbey and sighed.

"Leo." Margaret popped her head into the area outside the Oval.

"Yeah."

"The Surgeon General's in your office."

"Okay." He turned to Abbey. "He's making too much out of this."

"I know," Abbey answered.

"Millie's probably gonna show me the door if I don't attend to her right away…" Leo said.

"I'll handle Jed."

"Thank you."

Abbey touches his arm lightly as she walked past him into the Oval Office and closed the door behind her. Jed had taken to pacing the floor once again and didn't stop despite Abbey's eyes burning into him while she leaned against the door. She folded her arms across her chest and followed his every move with her watchful gaze.

"What did he say?" She asked, softly.

"'It's about time Haffley solved this thing. Now we can move onto more pressing matters.'"

"Haffley didn't solve a damn thing."

"No kidding!" Jed bellowed.

"Hey. Once again, do I look like Richardson to you?"

Jed averted his eyes from her.

"No."

"All right then."

"I just can't believe he would say that," Jed said.

"I can't believe he would say it to Katie."

"Leo says he thought they were off the record."

"Obviously not. Katie wouldn't pull a trick like that," Abbey replied.

"I know."

"In Richardson's defense, I doubt he meant it the way you think he meant it."

"It doesn't matter how he meant it, Abbey, it matters how the public perceived it when they picked up the Miami Herald this morning!"

Abbey nodded in agreement, and then moved to sit down on the couch. She had a hunch her husband would need a few minutes to blow off steam. He continued to pace in front of her.

"Why would Richardson be talking to Katie Witt about this anyway? That's just blatant disregard for my…you know."

"Your ego?"

"My….no, not my ego! My…you know, my…I'm the President, for God's sake!"

"Yes, I've heard that."

"You're missing the point here, Abigail. He dissed me!"

Abbey quickly covered her mouth with her hand and pursed her lips so Jed would not hear her amused laughter.

"He minimized the importance of the whole thing. He dissed the entire situation and made it seem like small potatoes!"

A quiet little squeak sounded from her throat as she continued to purse her lips tightly to conceal her amusement.

"He elevated Haffley and he dissed me!"

This time, Abbey could conceal it no longer. She let out a hearty, full-throated laugh, throwing her head back, overwhelmed by the hilarity. "What!" Jed exclaimed, thoroughly appalled.

"Nothing, no…" Abbey said, between fits of laughter. "I'm sorry. It's…"

She threw her head back once more when she caught of glimpse of his mixed expression of frustration and bewilderment.

"What the hell are you laughing at?"

"I'm sorry," Abbey answered, still giggling profusely. "I didn't mean to…diss you."

Jed rolled his eyes as she nearly toppled over with laughter on the couch.

"All right. Laugh all you want."

He walked over and collapsed into the chair beside her. He regarded her with interest while she succumbed to her convulsions and found himself unable to take his eyes off her. Since she had returned the day before, he hadn't given himself the opportunity to really look at her. Last night, he had wanted to tell her how much he loved her hair. It was much longer now, and he was grateful because he'd never been a huge fan of the cropped look. Silently, he cursed her for being so beautiful. Her beauty made it painfully difficult to be angry at her. Especially when she was laughing.  
After about a minute, her laughter subsided and she began to compose herself.

"Are you through now?"

She nodded and wiped away the tears of laughter from her eyes.

"Mmm-hmm."

"Good."

Abbey grinned at his grumpy expression until his walls crumbled and he cracked a smile for her.

"Have dinner with me."

"What?" Jed asked, surprised.

"Have dinner with me tonight. Debbie mentioned something about a working dinner with the staff. Chinese and all that."

"Yeah."

"Cancel it."

"Abbey, I can't…"

"Please. We'll eat, we'll talk…"

"Preferably not at the same time," Jed quipped.

"What do you say?"

He wanted to repair his marriage just as much as she did, and he reckoned that ignoring all her efforts to do so would not be entirely beneficial for that particular cause.

"All right."

She smiled radiantly.

"Great. How's 7 o'clock?"

"Where?" Jed asked.

"Location undisclosed. Meeting place to be announced."

"How incredibly covert of you. I assume you've consulted with Nancy and Fitz and run it by the director of the CIA."

"They're in on it, yeah. I'll dispatch a message to Charlie later via cryptogram and he'll reveal the meeting place," Abbey said.

"Understood."

"Good. I should go freshen up. I've got a lunch."

She rose from her seat.

"Hot date?" Jed questioned, facetiously.

"Depends on whether or not you consider Sam Seaborn to be hot."

Which, admittedly, she did.

"You've got a lunch meeting with Sam?"

"I choose to think of it as hot date, but yes. Yes, I do."

"May inquire as to the purpose for said lunch meeting?"

"Maybe he's my accomplice for tonight's covert op," Abbey answered.  
"Maybe?"

"I'm really not at liberty to say."

"I don't have code word clearance?"

"Not as such, no."

"Well, then, I guess I'd better stay out of it."

Abbey nodded and advanced toward the door that lead outside.

"I guess you'd better. I'll see you at seven."

"Seven."

She waved at him coyly and disappeared out onto the portico. Just then, a knock on the door was followed by Charlie's entrance to the room.

"Mr. President?  
" Jed looked up.

"Yeah."

"Toby's outside."

"Send him in."

A few seconds later, Charlie was replaced by a sullen Toby.

"Sit down with me, Toby."

"Yes, sir."

Toby quickly complied and sat down beside the President on the couch.

"What do you think about the First Lady?" Jed inquired.

Toby's eyes narrowed, expressing his confusion about the President's sudden non sequitor.

"In…what sense, sir?"

"You must have formulated some kind of opinion on her over the years. What do you think about her?"

"In general?"

"Yeah."

"I think she's…very intelligent, Mr. President."

"Come on, Toby. I'm asking you. There's no right or wrong answer here."

"No penalties?"

"No penalties."

"All right. Well, I think she's very intelligent, talented, driven, occasionally a little dogmatic and a little obstinate. She's also a good hostess, gracious, charming, extremely attractive, and…"

Jed raised an eyebrow.

"…now and then, I think she's quite a piece of work."

"Yeah."

Having realized what he said to make his boss raise an incredulous eyebrow, Toby drew in a sharp intake of breath.

"I'm sorry, Mr. President, I shouldn't have mentioned anything about…"

Jed laughed and stood, intent on returning back to his desk.

"It's okay. You're not the first man to have the hots for my wife, Toby, and you won't be the last."

"Sir, I don't have…"

"Oliver Babish," Jed said suddenly. "Why do you think he roped her into all those constant meetings?"

"Because she broke the law?"

Jed pointed in Toby's direction and looked at him over the rim of his glasses.  
"You keep thinking that. Lord Marbury, a prime example."

Toby couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Yes, sir. Need I mention Ron Erlich?"

Jed frowned.

"That was low, Toby."

"Due respect, sir, but you walked right into that one."

The President shrugged dismissively.

"Yeah, I did. What's up?"

"I'm sorry to bring this straight to you, sir, but Margaret said that Leo's not to be interrupted and…"

"That's okay, Toby. What do you need?" Jed questioned.

"There's gonna be a story about the shutdown published in the Washington Post in which an unnamed source from the Speaker's office claims that you staged the entire thing so that you could play the part of intrepid hero marching to the hill and saving the day, essentially."

"Are you kidding me with this!"

"No, sir."

"The Washington Post," Jed said, pensively. "That's Danny's paper, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir. It's Danny's story."

"Danny's running this story!"

"Yes, Mr. President. He's asking for a comment," Toby replied.

"Oh, I'll give him a comment. You can tell Danny to shove it up his…"

"Sir, I don't think it's fair to blame Danny for this. He brought it to CJ ahead of time as a courtesy."

"What's CJ doing right now?" Jed asked.

"My guess is she's beating the crap out of him."

"Good. I want to solve this before dinner. I've got plans."

"Sir, I thought we were…"

"Not anymore, Toby. I've got plans. Very important plans. Fix this."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen Washington, D.C.

Danny Concannon walked out of the Oval Office with a smirk on his face. Charlie Young, having not been accustomed to people exiting the office sporting such an expression, did not hesitate in asking the renowned journalist just what he was grinning about.

"I'm off the hook," Danny replied, succinctly.

"Oh, I see," Charlie responded. "Except…no, I don't. What just happened?"

"That call Debbie put through to the President…"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"It was his daughter, Liz."

"And?"

"And Liz had some news," Danny explained. "Now, I don't know what that news is but it resulted in the President forgetting all about the quote and, subsequently, all about me. So it's back to work."

"Yeah. I'm happy for you," Charlie said, dryly. "Excuse me."

Danny shrugged and bid farewell to Debbie while Charlie swiftly entered the Oval Office. Inside, he found the President standing in front of the window with his back to him. Charlie had witnessed this image many times, and knew all too well that it was a sign that the President was in deep thought and it wasn't neccesarily a swell idea to interrupt him. However, Charlie's curiosity by far exceeded his better judgment, a rare occurance.

"Mr. President."

Jed Bartlet whipped around, inwardly thrilled to have someone upon whom to heap his rage.

"I knew it!"

"Knew what, sir?" Charlie questioned.

"That family is chock full of scoundrels."

"Scoundrels, sir?"

"They're scalliwags, Charlie. Diabolical rogues."

"Yes, sir. Who are we talking about?"

"The Prescotts!" Jed exclaimed.

"Ah."

Should have seen that coming, Charlie thought.

"They blaze through women like desperados in the old west. You know what I'm talking about, Charlie."

"Yes, sir."

"Skirt-chasers, that's what they are. Not a care in the world. Not a single passing thought to who they hurt along the way."

"I thought we were rid of Sir Anthony, Mr. President," Charlie said.

"Oh, we are, Charlie. We are."

"Has he come back for revenge? Sir Anthony strikes back?"

"Not that scalliwag, Charlie," Jed replied. "Scalliwag Jr."

Charlie frowned. Not that he was a fan of Tony Prescott upsetting the President, but he was even less of a fan of Oliver Prescott doing the same.

"If you don't mind my asking, Mr. President, what did he do"  
"Ran out on my youngest daughter. That's what he did, the swine."

"He left Zoey?" Charlie asked, incredulously.

"He told her he was going to stay back in Manchester with her when Tony left. Then he skipped on out to Logan and left a note in his place."

As Charlie stared straight ahead, his eyes wide with anger, it soon began clear to the President that they were no longer focused on him, but on something much greater.

"Charlie?"

Jerked out of his daze, Charlie looked up at his boss.

"I'm gonna kill him."

"What?"

"Nothing, sir, I apologize. I just came in to give you this message from the First Lady."

Jed's face brightened considerably.

"Oh?"

"She's asked me to clear your schedule for the evening," Charlie said.

"And you did?"

"Yes, sir. I've found in the past that arguing with the First Lady does more harm than good."

Jed chuckled.

"Keen observation, Charles."

"She's sending a car to pick you up at 6:30, at the ellipse."

"At the ellipse?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why the ellipse?"

"She didn't say."

"All right." Jed nodded. "Did she say where I would end up?"

"No, sir."

"I assume the Service is aware."

"I think that's fair, sir."

"Did she say anything else?" The President wondered.

"Yes, sir."

"What's that?"

"She said not to be late."

Josh Lyman hadn't left his office all afternoon. He held all meetings in his office and had Donna, who had become mildly concerned with his unnatural behavior, pick him up some lunch. She had questioned him numerous times, and he brushed her off without giving it a second thought. After awhile, her worry began to grow and she called for back-up.

Sam Seaborn knocked on Josh's door and granted himself entry when he received no response from within. Inside, Josh was facing his computer, leaning in intently. Sam shut the door behind him and stood against it.

"Hey."

Josh did not turn to look at him.

"Hey."

"What're you doing?" Sam asked.

"Boosting my ego," Josh replied. glanced at Sam through the corner of his eye.

"Yeah. Donna send you in?"

"Yeah," Sam answered, honestly. "Well, no. Actually, I was going to stop by sometime today."

"Glad it all worked out for ya then."

Sam nodded and approached the desk.

"I just had lunch with the First Lady."

"I'm guessing it was a nutritional one."

"She conned me into eating a fruit salad, so yeah, I'd say that's pretty accurate."

"That's a surprise," Josh said, blandly.

"She's doing a Presidential Classroom seminar next week."

"Good for her."

Sam shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Yeah. So, I heard you really gave Richardson a talking to this morning."

"You could say that," Josh replied.

"Listen, there's something I need to talk to you about."

Josh turned his chair to face his colleague and looked at him blankly.

"I'm telling you this because I want you to hear it from me. You deserve that much."

"What is it, Sam? Spit it out."

"I'm going out with Amy tonight," Sam admitted sheepishly.

After an awkward moment of silence, Josh said, "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"She likes Thai."

Sam's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"What?"

"Thai food. She's a big fan."

"Okay. You're good with this then?" Sam assumed.

"I'm more than good. I'm great with it. I'm thrilled you're dating my ex-girlfriend. I couldn't ask for anything more. In fact, I had secretly wished for this. But never in my wildest dreams did I think…"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Okay. Obviously you have some…reservations."

"You're damn right I do!" Josh exclaimed, rising from his chair.

"It isn't like I stole her from you, Josh."

"Yes, it is. That's exactly what it's like."

"How?"

"Because…because now I don't have the option. I can't go ask her to dinner whenever I feel like it."

"That's not something you should be doing anyway, if you ask me. You can't just have her whenever you please, at your convenience. She deserves better."

"And you think she deserves you," Josh said.

"She deserves better than both of us. But at least I'm not yanking her around like a playtoy or something."

"You're not exactly a white knight yourself, you know. You're something of a cad too. Not only that, but you're also a quisling. You're a recreant, a turncoat. You're like Paul Newman in that Hitchcock spy movie. You're Benedict Arnold. You're Joe McCarthy, you're HUAC."

"What?"

"I don't know, but you're bad news, that's what you are," Josh said.

"Yeah, okay."

Sam shook his head in disbelief as Josh headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Sam questioned.

"I'm going to call up Mallory O'Brien. Or Ainsley Hayes. Maybe Sherborne Seaborn too. Hey, heard from Laurie lately?"

"Now you're just being immature."

"It's me or her, Sam."

"You're kidding me with this, right? Tell me you're kidding."

"I'm not kidding."

"What, are we gonna duel over her now? Have a joust? Seriously, Josh, how medieval can you get?"

Josh placed his hands on his hips obstinately.

"What's your decision?"

Manchester, New Hampshire

Zoey Bartlet lowered herself into the bathtub and sank into the warm, soapy water. She leaned her head against the wall and closed her tired eyes, allowing the water to calm her shot nerves. She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly.

Then, she made a mental list of everything that had gone wrong in her life over the last six months. First, her kidnapping, which she still hadn't been able to discuss in detail with anyone besides her psychiatrist. Then, the breakdown of her parents' marriage, the death of her grandfather, the death of her sister's fiance, and finally, being abandoned by her boyfriend, one of few people she had allowed herself to trust following her abduction. Oliver Prescott had chosen England over her. Not too long ago, she had been betrayed by the unmentionable French suitor as well. What did that say about her?

And what was she supposed to do now?

Jed Bartlet's eyes were glued to the window as the motorcade drove alongside the Potomac River. Even now, he was not enlightened as to his pending location. "The First Lady insists on keeping your destination under wraps," Coop had said. And God knows Charlie hadn't been much help. Not only was he influenced by Abbey's orders, but he was also far too distracted with thoughts of the youngest First Daughter to think clearly. Jed had sent him home early. Hopefully he wouldn't be needing him anyway.

The limosine's pace slowed and finally the vehicle came to a halt. Jed glanced out the window at his surroundings, a place foreign to him. He stepped out of the car and looked around. The restaurant, H20, sat on the bank of the river, boasting what Jed imagined was a breathtaking view from inside. Although, he was a little afraid of what else he would find inside.

Jed walked past the agents stationed outside the building and went inside. He was surprised to find the place completely empty, with only one table set up in the main room. Along one side of the room the wall was completely made of glass, revealing the spectacular view Jed had suspected he would find. He stood alone in the middle of the large space before his wife seemed to appear out of the thin air. She was wearing red and white plaid pajama pants and a casual pink t-shirt. Her hair was messily gathered into a ponytail and her makeup was almost nonexistant. She looked radiant.

"Hey there," Abbey greeted him cheerily.

"Hey," he returned. "It appears I'm a little overdressed."

"Not for much longer."

She tossed a folded pair of sweat pants and Notre Dame t-shirt at him, which he caught at the last minute. He looked back up and caught a glimpse of her sly grin.

"I'm supposed to change into these?"

"Yes, sir," Abbey replied. "Unless you prefer being uncomfortable."

"But…"

"You want to argue or you want to change?"

"Depends," Jed answered. "What's for dinner?"

"Vegetarian lasagna."

"Then I want to argue."

She laughed.

"It's not vegetarian lasagna."

"What is it then?"

"It's a healthy serving of you're just gonna have to wait and see."

"I had that once," he said. "Wasn't impressed."

"Oh, go change, would you please?"

He nodded in somewhat reluctant agreement.

"Where?"

She pointed down the hallway behind him.

"Down the hall on the left."

Jed nodded.

"Right. Okay. Can I ask…"

"Why?" Abbey assumed.

"Yeah."

"Well, I considered making use of some of the designer clothes I bought in London, but then I thought this might be a little more fun. A nice, casual dinner. Can't remember the last time we had one of those, can you?"

He shook his head, and she continued.

"This gesture also happens to be symbolic."

"Of?"

"My attempt to restore what I miss most."

"What's that?" Jed questioned.

"Our friendship."

Dr. Millicent Griffith paced the floor of Leo McGarry's office with her eyes turned down and her emotions turned off. She thought it would be best to execute the prospective confrontation with an air of impassiveness. She wrung her hands nervously, forcing all of her stray emotions to keep themselves in check. When she heard movement outside the closed door, she paused. She stood static and stationary in front of the desk at the exact moment Leo entered the room.

"All right." He walked over to his desk and dropped a manilla folder onto the surface.

"What'd I do now?"

Millie took a deep breath and turned into the opposite direction. He narrowed his eyes in confusion and advanced toward her hesitantly.

"What is it?"

Suddenly, she whirled around. Her tear-filled eyes locked directly with his mystified ones. She folded her arms across her chest and bit her lip. He raised a curious eyebrow and waited for her to state her business.

"I think we're making a mistake."

Leo walked over to his desk and perched on the edge, observing her thoughtfully, and skeptically.

"Uh-huh."

"I think we're moving too fast," Millie said, softly.

He frowned and folded his arms across his chest just as she had done a moment earlier.

"Yeah."

"I'm not in a good place right now. I'm…"

Leo impeded her words by standing upright and closing in on her.

"Millie, where the hell is this coming from?"

Caught off-guard by his demand, Millie took a moment to gather her thoughts and focused briefly on the concealing of her emotions.

"Well, I think it's been building for quite some time, Leo."

He shook his head.

"No. It's been building since Jenny sent out the invitations to her damn wedding."

"Look, Leo…"

"No, you listen to me. I don't think I'm going to like what's about to happen here so I'd really like to put a stop to it while I still can," Leo said.

When her emotions threatened to unravel, Millie once more began to wring her hands and bit her lower lip.

"I've been divorced less than a year," she said, finally. "And it wasn't a very amicable parting, if you recall. I'm not especially anxious to be thrown into that position again."

"What position? We're not even married, how can there be a divorce on the horizon?"

"That's not what I'm saying."

"Then what in God's name are you saying, Millicent?" Leo questioned angrily.

"I'm saying I fell too hard and too fast!" She blurted out suddenly. "I'm saying that after a thirty-five year marriage shattering so abruptly, it's probably not a good idea to get so…involved with another person."

"That's not what this is about."

"Leo…"

"No! That's not what this is about and you know it!" He exclaimed.

"Then what is it about! Since you have such insight into my emotions, tell me what this is about!"

"This is about commitment."

Millie laughed cynically and shook her head.

"This is not about commitment."

"Oh, yes, it is. You fell too hard and too fast, and you're convinced I didn't do the same"  
"Well, it's a fair assumption, isn't it?"

Leo groaned and plunged his hands into his pockets in frustration. He turned away from her, not wanting to see the excess moisture dangling around her eyes. He walked to his desk, then turned and approached her. He absorbed her shaken but sturdy figure and then backed away from her once again.

Leo McGarry was not an emotional man. He had never had been. Following his divorce, the indifference was only heightened. He could easily convey many feelings, dissatisfaction among them, but romantic love was very seldom on that list, despite any and all efforts to change that. He wanted so badly to tell her that her accusation was false. He wanted so badly to be honest, and tell her what she needed to hear. It was a flaw that had ended his marriage. And, he feared, a flaw that would thwart all subsequent relationships.

"Okay," Millie said, her voice broken and timid. "Suspicions confirmed."

Without looking at him, she grabbed her purse from the couch and slung it over her shoulder.

"It would never have worked anyway."

He didn't believe it, and he knew she didn't either.

"Our lives are too stressful, too consuming," she continued. "We serve at the pleasure of the President. There's not much room for anything else."

Unfortunately, that was a case he could not dispute. She smiled at him cordially and placed one hand on the doorknob before glancing back at him fleetingly.

"Take care, Leo."

He merely nodded in response. She exited the office in haste, closing the door behind her. He slowly walked toward his desk and lowered himself into the chair behind it. He dropped his head into his hands and waited for the moment when Margaret would inevitably pop her head in and inquire as to the Surgeon General's rapid departure.

As always, he would tell her to mind her own business.

After Jed changed into the clothes Abbey had chosen for him, they sat down to a dinner of prime rib, to his utter astonishment. The first few minutes were decidedly awkward as they both took their time adjusting to their surroundings, and companion. It was not long, however, before the ice was broken and dialogue began flowing out of both of them without showing any signs of stopping. They spoke mostly of the past, drowning in the wistful nostalgia of their early days as a couple. They swapped anecdotes and tried in vain to remember some of the more colorful characters that had passed through their lives over the years.

They did not discuss their years in the White House, nor did they discuss past six months.

In the middle of relaying an anecdote from Ellie's first birthday party, Abbey's cell phone rang. She smiled apologetically at her husband, pulled the phone out of her purse, and answered it.

"Hello? Hey, Mil. Listen, I'm in the middle of…what! Oh,no. Oh, my God. Yeah. Okay, one sec."

She covered the phone with her palm and turned to Jed.

"It's Millie."

"So I gathered," he replied.

"She just broke up with Leo."

Jed's jaw dropped in disbelief.

"You're kidding."

"No." She stood. "I'm just going to talk her through this for a minutes, okay?"

"Yeah, fine."

"Thank you."

Abbey walked a few feet away from the table and continued her conversation. Jed watched her with interest as she made numerous attempts to calm her best friend. Just as Jed began to wonder how Leo was handling the situation, he heard a bit of commotion from the far end of the restaurant.

"Hey, hey. I'm his goddamn secretary. It's not like I've got a gun in my purse. I happen to need this job. Out of my way."

Jed chuckled to himself. That was unmistakably Debbie Fiderer. He stood up from the table and met her as she entered the room. She was visibly harried and her eyes were wide and nervous.

"What's going on, Debbie?"

"Sir…" Debbie cocked her head to one side, gesturing toward Abbey.

"Abbey!" Jed called.

Abbey glanced behind her shoulder and upon seeing her husband's secretary, began slowing walking in their direction until she stood beside Jed.

"What is it?"

"Mr. President, ma'am…I'm afraid I have some bad news," Debbie said.

Jed frowned.

"Go on."

Debbie took a deep breath before continuing. Jed and Abbey exchanged apprehensive glances.

"About fifteen minutes ago, Zoey attempted suicide."

THE END. 


End file.
